Chapter 9
Gwendolyn asked to see Peter after six months.
I said no.
She asked again after nine.
No.
At one year, Peter asked about her.
Not because he missed her.
Because he saw an old photograph.
“Who?”
“Aunt Gwendolyn.”
“She hit me?”
“Yes.”
He touched his cheek.
No mark remained.
“Why?”
“She wanted you scared enough to do what she said.”
He frowned.
“Mean.”
“Yes.”
“Still mean?”
Harder.
“She says she’s trying not to be.”
He thought.
“Can see?”
I asked why.
He shrugged.
“Want ask.”
So we arranged it.
Garden.
No Miles.
No Silas.
Gwendolyn sat across from him.
She cried immediately.
Peter looked annoyed.
Adults crying makes children impatient when they are waiting for answers.
“Why you say Daddy die?”
Gwendolyn swallowed.
“Because I wanted something.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
I said nothing.
Her answer.
“I wanted Miles to be important.”
Peter frowned.
“Daddy important.”
“Yes.”
“Miles important too.”
She started crying harder.
There.
The simple truth she had missed.
Importance did not require replacement.
She had built an entire betrayal around a false scarcity.
Peter continued:
“Why hit?”
“Because you wouldn’t hold the picture.”
“That bad.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t.”
“I won’t.”
He stood.
Conversation finished.
Gwendolyn looked at me.
No hug.
No forgiveness.
Just truth.
Later she said:
“He made it sound so simple.”
“It was simple.”
Adults made it complicated because simple morality threatened complicated ambition.
May you like
She accepted that.
Eventually.
