Chapter 23 #2
“Lan and I were never close, Atty. When I started modeling, she disappeared into a long list of activities—every single one you could think of. I barely saw her. And my dad was always gone. Work, travel. When he was around, he’d ask me how my day was, and that was it.
If he saw me and my mom fighting, he’d take her side.
Tell me to apologize. Defend her no matter what.
And I never told him the truth. Not really. ”
Atty shook his head gently. “That’s not an excuse.”
“I know.” I gave him a small smile. “The idea of having kids terrifies me sometimes. But other times, I think I’d be good at it just by not doing anything they did.” I tried to joke, but he didn’t laugh. If anything, his face tightened with concern.
“I know my dad wasn’t perfect,” I said, softer this time. “But I think he was too in love with her to ever see past it.”
There was a lingering pause.
His fingers brushed over my jaw, his perfect blue eyes staring into me. “What happened last night?”
I exhaled deeply. “She triggers me. A lot. You’ve seen it happen a couple of times—before we got together and after. If you ever wondered why I disappeared for a while, or what happened during those gaps…well, you got the front-row show last night.”
His lips pulled down, and a quiet heaviness settled over me. I looked away, staring at a fixed point on his shirt instead of his eyes.
“I’m used to things like the room. I’m even used to her brushing off the big things that cut deep. But last night, it was how she treated Marco’s son. That’s what got to me.”
“Why?”
“Because…even though Sam says he can’t diagnose from afar, she shows a lot of traits of a narcissist.” I said it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“Narcissist,” Atty echoed, cautious.
“Sometimes I think it fits. Other times, I’m not so sure.
Her love has always felt either conditional or nonexistent.
But last night, she was doting on that kid, and all I could think was—why not me?
Why was she telling him to eat more, when she always had something awful to say about my weight?
” I swallowed hard. “Maybe she can love. Maybe she can feel empathy. And I’m just the real problem here. ”
My eyes found his again. The pain etched across his face felt like it belonged to me, and it nearly unraveled me.
“And it’s also…is she just doing it again? Is that what it looked like from the outside when it was me? And it’s like I’m thirteen again, crying over something she said to me when no one was watching. Over how she’d been so nice just a few hours ago.”
The muscles of his jaw ticked, and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
I clicked my tongue. “I sound like a kid. Complaining—”
“No,” he said, firm and immediate.
“Atty…”
“You’re allowed to feel like this.”
I tried to curl into myself, shoulders hunching. “You sound like Sam.”
“Because it’s true.” He slid his hand behind my neck, offering me a place to rest, to ground myself.
“And you don’t have to hide it. Not from me.
If you’re sad, or angry, or feel like you got hurt, tell me.
Always. I could pull the covers over us right now and remind you we’re in our safe place, but we don’t need to.
It’s just us. Wherever we are, if we’re together—I’ll be your safe place. Just like you’re mine.”
There it was. What I could never quite put into words. She used to see my weakness and use it against me. But he did the opposite—he saw it, and somehow turned it into something good. He took what broke me, held it gently, and gave it back with meaning. With healing.
That’s all I had ever wanted. To feel safe.
I nodded, the knot in my throat making it impossible to say anything.
“You don’t have to explain anymore, okay? I get it. And I’m here for you,” he added.
That sounded like he actually believed me. Like I didn’t have to name every instance, every slight. He just believed me?
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Noah. You need a break. Calm,” he said, his eyes drifting to my right. “I’m going to run a bath for both of us. Then maybe we can get food, take a nap? We don’t even have to go to the Mass if you don’t want to.”
I tilted my head. “It’s not going to be a walk in the park, but I can handle it.”
He nodded, a little stiff. “Bath?”
“Sure.”
He kissed my cheek and stepped off the bed, walking into the bathroom and leaving the door ajar.
I stared at the empty space he left behind, not really thinking before I followed him in. He stood with his hands on his hips, facing the tub as it filled. His posture was too tense.
I reached for his arm. “Hey.”
Atty startled at the sight of me, then rubbed his hands over his face, quickly and almost harshly. Was he crying?
I stepped closer, gently pulling his hands away. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head fast. “Nothing. I’m just processing.”
“Atty, you just said—”
“I know what I said, but it just hit me and I—” His breath caught. He rubbed his eyes again.
“What?”
“I’m sad, Noah. I’m just…sad for you.” His eyes were rimmed red, his cheeks tear-streaked.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s not that I have to. And I don’t feel sorry for you, okay?
That’s not what this is. I’m just sad because I can picture you as a kid, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you don’t make noise when you cry.
” His voice trembled. “Last night was the first time I’ve actually heard you cry, and it just…
it got to me. Because it makes sense.” He paused, eyes searching mine.
“It makes so much sense in the worst way. Because this is why you can do it, right?”
“Do what?”
“This is why you can read me so well.” His eyes stayed on mine, and the silence stretched.
I knew he was piecing it together, even if neither of us said it out loud.
Yeah. I learned early.
I nodded. His lips trembled before he bit down on them. I reached for his waist, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest—like he wanted to shield me from something.
“Atty…”
“Don’t comfort me, Noah. Don’t make it smaller. Let’s just be sad, okay? We’ll have a sad morning together. That’s fine.”
“Okay,” I whispered, tightening my arms around him. “We’ll be sad together.”
He nodded into my hair while the water rushed into the tub beside us. We stayed like that until his breathing had slowed and the sniffling stopped. Then we climbed in together. We didn’t say much—just sat in the warmth, side by side, both of us processing different versions of the same story.
It was a beautiful thing. To feel safe enough to share this with someone.
Instead of hiding.
Instead of running.
It felt strange. But right. Everything with him felt right.
And once we’d both settled some, I told Atty about the big ones.
The things that stayed with me. I told him about the time with the cash, and then all about River that night—what I’d done.
I told him about my dad getting sick. About her disappearing.
About the lies. About the fight. The slap.
The way I started to feel myself becoming her.
I even told him about the bad therapist. And the voices that had always haunted me.
And for the first time in my life—even counting Sam—I talked about the pills. About how they circled my brain like vultures. About the hospital. About everything that had really been happening back then.
Now he knew. He knew where I’d been when he met me. Why I’d left before I could fall too far and drag him down with me. That I had already been running out of time.
And as his arms wrapped around me, I knew I’d done the right thing.
I’d trusted him. Completely.
And for once, I could let the wound close.
Let it scar.
Let myself move on.
The Mass had been formal and uneventful. Ilana stood and said a few words again. This time, I actually managed to listen and even smiled at her thoughtfulness. I didn’t offer to speak, and no one asked me to.
Our mother had planned a lunch afterward, some attempt to wrap grief in civility. But after the last twenty-four hours, I didn’t have it in me to sit at a table and pretend I could eat.
I knew what I wanted.
What I needed.
Closure.
Outside, the sky had gone a dull gray. We stood in clusters, exchanged polite goodbyes, brief hugs, vague murmurs of take care and be well. Then we climbed into the car.
I turned to Atty. “There’s something else I have to do today. Will you come with me?”
He looked at me—really looked—and his blue eyes softened, like he’d already said yes before the words left his mouth. “Do you want me there?”
I nodded without hesitation.
“Then I’m there,” he said, offering a quiet smile.
I leaned forward, tapping the divider. “Change in plans. Can you take us to Calvary Cemetery, please?”