Chapter 13
Vanessa asked to speak with me privately.
I agreed.
She stood in our bedroom surrounded by evidence of a marriage that had once been real.
Her perfume.
Her books.
A photograph from Italy.
My cufflinks in her jewelry tray.
Cruel people are rarely cruel every second.
That is what makes leaving complicated.
She looked at our wedding photo.
“I loved you.”
“I know.”
“You still believe that?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
She had expected hatred.
Hatred would make this simpler.
I refused simplicity.
“You loved me.”
I continued.
“And you hurt my daughter.”
Both truths.
She sat.
“I hated Elena.”
“I know.”
“I never met her.”
“I know.”
“That made it worse.”
I frowned.
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“How do you compete with someone who can’t disappoint you anymore?”
That was honest.
Painful.
“I wasn’t asking you to compete.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“But you were still in love with her.”
I said nothing.
Because some part of me was.
Not in a way that made marriage false.
In a way grief remains.
Vanessa continued.
“Lily looked at you with Elena’s eyes.”
My jaw tightened.
“Every time you softened for her, I felt like I was living in Elena’s house.”
“So you made Lily smaller.”
“Yes.”
The answer came quietly.
No excuse.
I respected the truth without forgiving the act.
“And Mason?”
“I needed someone who was mine.”
There.
Not child.
Anchor.
Proof she had a place independent of me.
She used her son to build security.
Used my daughter to build contrast.
That was the tragedy.
She loved both children in ways contaminated by what she needed them to prove.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
She flinched.
Good question.
“For Lily.”
“More specific.”
Her eyes filled.
“For making her think food, rooms, and your love could disappear when she displeased me.”
Better.
“For Mason?”
She looked down.
“For making him believe he had to stand above someone to belong.”
Better.
She looked at me.
“Is that enough?”
“No.”
Her face tightened.
I continued.
“But it is more honest than yesterday.”
That was all I could give.
She cried.
I did not hold her.
May you like
Not because I wanted punishment.
Because comfort at that moment would belong to the wrong person.
