Chapter 11
Corinne admitted it.
Not immediately.
Not elegantly.
But she admitted it.
The meeting happened at Rebecca’s office with attorneys present.
Corinne looked exhausted.
Alistair had not seen her since the gala.
“You knew Elena.”
“Yes.”
“You were her case coordinator.”
“Yes.”
“You met her the night she died.”
“Yes.”
“You accessed her file after her death.”
Corinne closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first because I wanted to know what happened.”
“That was not your job.”
“I know.”
“Five times?”
She looked at him.
“The office was chaotic after police began asking questions. Then the case closed. I kept wondering whether anything I had done pushed her into leaving that night.”
Alistair’s voice hardened.
“You did not cause the crash.”
“I know that now.”
“Then why lie when you met me?”
Corinne’s answer took longer.
“Because I recognized you.”
“Not enough.”
“I knew if I told you who I was, every conversation between us would become about Elena.”
“That would have been my decision.”
“Yes.”
“But you wanted the decision.”
Corinne began crying.
“Yes.”
She had first met Alistair at the foundation gala by coincidence.
At least according to the event records.
She was working for another nonprofit by then.
Alistair spoke to her because they happened to be seated near each other.
Corinne knew who he was.
He did not know who she was.
She told herself disclosure could wait.
Then they had coffee.
Then dinner.
Then a relationship.
Each delay made the truth harder to tell.
Eventually telling him meant admitting she had lied for months.
So she kept lying.
Alistair looked at her.
“That explains me.”
Corinne lowered her eyes.
“It doesn’t explain Sadie.”
“No.”
“Why did you need her to call you Mom?”
Corinne wiped her face.
“Because I never stopped feeling like I was living inside Elena’s plan.”
The answer was ugly and honest.
Daphne remained because Elena wanted her there.
The photographs remained because Alistair wanted Sadie to remember.
Sadie rejected maternal language because Elena was still emotionally present.
Corinne began interpreting every boundary as proof that she would never truly belong.
“What happened at the gala?” Alistair asked.
Corinne whispered:
“I wanted one thing that was mine.”
“A word.”
“Yes.”
“From a four-year-old.”
Corinne began crying harder.
Alistair felt nothing resembling sympathy.
“You punished my daughter because grief did not rearrange itself around your engagement.”
Corinne looked at him.
“I loved you.”
“That is not a defense.”
May you like
“I know.”
For once, she did.
