Chapter 8
Julian ended the relationship himself the next morning.
He told me afterward.
No screaming.
No dramatic ring thrown into water.
Just clarity.
Vanessa asked if they could rebuild.
He said:
“Not while I’m still figuring out which parts of the last three months were real.”
That was fair.
She gave him the ring.
Left.
Ethan left with her.
Diane called Julian weak.
That conversation went poorly.
I found them in my study.
My sister standing.
My son seated.
She said:
“You throw away a woman who loves you because she was afraid?”
Julian looked at her.
“No.”
Then:
“I’m leaving because everyone around me decided my choices were dangerous unless managed.”
Good.
Diane scoffed.
“Your choice was Newport.”
“Yes.”
“With Avice.”
“Yes.”
“You would have isolated her.”
That word.
Isolation.
Ninety minutes from Boston.
Avice would have had school, friends, beach, her father.
Diane interpreted distance from Lombardi as deprivation.
Because for her, family only existed at close range.
Why?
I had never asked.
My sister was seventeen when our father died.
Our mother became unstable for a year.
I was fourteen.
Diane practically raised me.
Later, her husband left after an affair.
Her only son moved to California.
He rarely visited.
Diane’s deepest fear was not weakness.
Departure.
Everyone she loved eventually went somewhere else.
So she made proximity moral.
Stay = love.
Leave = betrayal.
Julian’s move activated everything.
The fake pregnancy became a tool to keep him near.
Human.
Still manipulative.
I told her:
“You confused being needed with being loved.”
She looked at me.
Then slapped the desk with her palm.
“You would all scatter if I stopped holding things together.”
Perhaps.
Maybe families are supposed to scatter somewhat.
Not disappear.
Stretch.
Return voluntarily.
Diane hated that idea.
May you like
She left without saying goodbye.
For once, I let her.
