Chapter 11
Vanessa had spent our entire marriage competing with Isabella.
I had not noticed because I never entered the competition.
Isabella was dead.
Vanessa was alive.
I thought the difference was obvious.
Apparently not to her.
“She still owns that house.”
I stared.
“Audrey owns it.”
“Because of Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother still talks about her.”
“Yes.”
“Your captains still say she understood the old families better than I do.”
“Some do.”
“Lucy—”
“Audrey.”
Vanessa stopped.
Wrong name.
Interesting.
My daughter had never been Vanessa’s daughter inside her own mind.
Not really.
Vanessa continued.
“Audrey talks about her every day.”
“She is her mother.”
“She barely remembers her!”
I leaned back.
There.
The cruelty underneath jealousy.
If Audrey’s memory was incomplete, Vanessa thought she had the right to replace it.
“She remembers enough.”
“She remembers stories everyone feeds her.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Vanessa laughed.
“So I was supposed to spend my life living beside a ghost?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You were supposed to stop competing with one.”
Silence.
Her eyes filled.
Maybe real pain.
Did not matter enough.
“I loved you.”
“I believe you.”
That surprised her.
Then I continued.
“You just loved being chosen more.”
Her face hardened.
“You chose Isabella first.”
“She was my wife.”
“And then me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did I always feel second?”
I thought carefully.
“Because Audrey stayed first.”
That was the answer.
Vanessa’s face changed.
She had wanted marriage to reorder every loyalty around her.
Wife above daughter.
New family above old grief.
Her authority above Claire.
Her access above Isabella’s inheritance.
When reality refused, she punished the one person too small to fight back.
I looked at her.
“You weren’t losing to Isabella.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“You were losing to a three-year-old’s right to love her mother.”
May you like
Vanessa looked away.
And for the first time, I think she understood how small that made her.
