Chapter 14
Marking the consequences was easier than living with them.
Garrett had been in my bed three nights earlier.
His cufflinks were still in my dressing room.
His coffee cup remained beside mine in the breakfast cabinet.
Love leaves ordinary evidence everywhere.
That was the part nobody at council meetings talks about.
I found his black tie draped over a chair and sat there staring at it for ten minutes.
Miriam found me.
Of course.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Then started folding laundry.
I frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Your staff left this.”
“You don’t have to fold my clothes.”
“I’m aware.”
That irritated me.
Then comforted me.
She stayed without turning my grief into a lesson.
Eventually I said:
“I still miss him.”
“I know.”
“I hate that.”
“Why?”
“Because he hurt you.”
Miriam folded one sleeve carefully.
“You loving him does not insult me.”
I looked at her.
“Staying with him would.”
There.
Simple.
Cruel only in its clarity.
I leaned back.
“He said he loved me.”
“He probably did.”
I stared.
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
She put the shirt aside.
“People can love us and still build lives that hurt us.”
I hated how useful that was.
“Then what is love worth?”
Miriam thought.
“Not enough by itself.”
Silence.
That might have been the most Mafia thing my mother had ever said.
Not enough by itself.
Loyalty.
Truth.
Choice.
Boundaries.
All required too.
I looked at her leg.
“How bad?”
“Bruised.”
“Mom.”
“It hurts.”
Better.
No minimizing.
I crouched beside her chair and touched her hand.
“I should have noticed earlier.”
“Yes.”
Again.
No rescue from accountability.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Is that enough?”
“No.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re brutal.”
“I raised you.”
Fair.
She squeezed my hand.
“Do better.”
That was all.
Not forgiveness as ceremony.
May you like
A direction.
I could work with that.
