Chapter 26 #2
I stand abruptly, running my hands through my hair before twisting it into a messy knot, using the strands themselves to secure it.
“How bad is it?” I ask, fighting the burn behind my eyes.
Mark draws in a breath. “I don’t have exact medical details to give you. But I managed to speak to someone who works at the hospital, and... it was serious. He spent almost a week in the ICU.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, a choked sound escaping.
“Is he dying?” I whisper.
“He seems to be stable. That’s all I know.”
“Do you know which hospital he’s in? I need to go.”
Mark stands too and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’ll take you. I’m not letting you go alone.”
I press my forehead to his shoulder, my breath shaking. For a moment, just one, I let myself lean into him. Let myself be held.
Then I pull back, wiping at my face. “Okay,” I murmur.
And even though my legs feel numb, I follow him.
My mother straightens her posture.
“I don’t know what you were told,” she begins, her voice far too level. “You probably went looking for us and some gossiping neighbor started spreading misinformation.”
I study her face. She’s thinner, drained. Deep shadows under her eyes. And yet it feels like we’re back in the living room of my old house, having the exact same conversation. The same performance, on repeat.
“And what’s your version of the story?” I ask, curiosity winning out over my exhaustion. “Why was he naked in bed with your married neighbor?”
Her mouth opens and closes, as if the words refuse to come out.
“You know, Mom,” I continue, keeping my eyes on hers, “in the first months after I found out everything, I kept trying to understand. Replaying it all in my head.”
My tone flattens, fatigue evident in every word that leaves my mouth. “It’s something I talk about in therapy to this day, every time I think of you two... or whenever I feel the urge to call.”
I sigh.
“I’m never going to understand.” My throat tightens, but I push through it. “And the worst part is that, in the beginning, I saw you as a victim. I felt sorry for you. For thinking you were in the dark, blindly trusting him.”
“But the truth, Mom... is that this is the life you chose.”
I don’t soften it for her.
“You know what happened in the past, and in the present, but you keep choosing to believe your fairy-tale version of things.”
She recoils, flinching, like the truth stinging skin she’s spent years trying to numb.
Neither of us says anything. For a beat, Mom seems lost, like she has no script left to hide behind. She shifts her gaze to the side, then looks back at me with stubborn resolve.
“You don’t even know that tramp. You didn’t see the way she strutted down the street in those tiny clothes! The other day she was wearing a skirt so short it was like she wasn’t wearing anything at all!”
“Mom, stop. Please, please stop,” I plead. “They are not the villains in your story. Not one of those women were. And yes—women, plural. I know there were others. I know Grace wasn’t the last one.”
At the mention of Grace’s name, her face hardens, defensive, wounded pride masquerading as outrage.
“Dad is the villain,” I say, my voice more in control than I feel. “Those women were nothing more than accomplices.” I inhale shakily. “And you, by consequence, became one too... by staying married to him, and worse, by covering for him. By defending him.”
My voice drops to a whisper. “For choosing him above anyone else, including yourself. And me. Your daughter.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “It’s not a matter of choices. I made vows when I married your father. And even when he makes mistakes, I know I’m the one he loves, and I love him too.”
A small sound of disbelief escapes me.
“What about his vows?” I ask, staring at her. “Didn’t he make the same ones?”
Her gaze wavers. For a moment, I see something break through. Recognition. Shame. The truth pressing hard against the cracks she’s spent decades cementing over.
But then she forces it back down. Shoves it beneath the surface. And buries herself once again inside the lie she decided she could live with.
The lie she loves more than the truth. More than herself.
Before she can answer, I lift a hand.
“Listen,” I say, my voice calm. “I don’t want to argue or rehash the same conversation we had months ago.”
I look at my mother, who stares at me as if I were the enemy.
“I came here to support you, to be here for you, even though you weren’t there for me when I needed you most. And I will be here if you need anything. Anything but my presence. I can’t keep doing this with you, Mom. I respect your choices. But I won’t make them my own.”
I stand, my legs trembling.
“Do you know the last image of you I can’t get out of my head?
” I ask, my voice thinning. “You throwing everything that was in that box. An innocent eleven-year-old girl’s keepsakes.
A victim of your own husband’s selfish choices.
And you tossed them in the trash without blinking, just so you could go back to living your perfect life. ”
I offer her a sad smile.
“You were always the rigid half of the equation. And yet, you were a loving mother. My safe place…
But somewhere along the way, that woman got lost inside you. I hope one day you find her again. And start living. Truly living.”
I hesitate, just for a breath, then walk over to her and kiss her cheek.
“I love you, Mom.”
The words leave me on a long breath. And as I turn and walk away, for the first time, putting distance between us doesn’t feel like abandonment. It feels like freedom.
Each step I take back toward the room feels heavier than the last. When I open the door and see my father exactly as he was when we left, tears spill down my cheeks all over again.
I stop at the side of the bed. I place my hand over his.
“I love you, Dad,” I murmur. “For so long, you were the most important person in my life, and even as an adult, I kept running to you whenever I needed someone.”
My voice breaks into a sob.
“But I will never reconcile the man I found out you are with the one who taught me to love books and to be a good person. You know... whenever I had to make a decision about the kids, I’d always think, ‘What would Dad say? What would Dad do?’ And that would bring a smile to my face and the clarity to choose the right thing. ”
I press my free hand to my chest. “But when I try to do that now, all I find is pain where there used to be nothing but love,” I whisper. “I forgive you, Dad. I forgive you, and I would never wish on you what happened.”
I draw in a breath, trying to ease the tremor in my voice. “I hope you recover as well as possible.”
I kiss my fingertips and gently place them over his forehead. Then I turn... and open the door. I keep walking until I reach the elevator and press the button. I pull a tissue from the pocket of my coat and wipe my eyes.
The doors haven’t even finished opening when I feel it… that shift in the air, the awareness.
I look up. And he’s there, standing directly in front of the elevator, worry carved into every line of his face. I step out and fall into his arms, sobbing.
Alexander guides me to a secluded corner, away from curious eyes, and simply holds me. He doesn’t offer empty words or try to force comfort I’m not ready for. He just stays with me.
His arm tightening protectively around my waist, his chest against my cheek, shielding me from everything. His presence alone feels like a shelter.
When the tears finally subside, I lift my head from his chest and look at him.
“Ciao, bella,” he murmurs, and it pulls a small smile from me.
He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Who told you?” I whisper.
He runs a hand down my back, his amber eyes never leaving mine. “Your friend Mark. He sent me a text.”
I feel him reach into his pocket; he pulls out his phone and tilts the screen toward me.
His contact is saved as Mark Benoit (Cecilia’s Brother)— which makes me let out a laugh—before I read the message:
Your Cecilia needs you. This is the address. She’ll tell you whatever she chooses once you’re there.
“After that, I called him,” Alexander says. “I had to make sure nothing had happened to you. When he told me you were physically safe, I could finally focus on getting here.”
His thumb brushes gently over my hand as he lowers the phone.
I smile, and then something strikes me. “How did he even have your number? I never gave it to him.”
Alexander lets out a soft laugh.
“It didn’t even cross my mind to ask him, but... based on what you’ve told me about his talent? I doubt it was difficult for him to find it.”
I smile again. That was a ridiculous question.
Alexander intertwines his fingers with mine and lifts my left wrist to his lips. My eyes flutter shut at the warmth of his kiss.
“Let me take you home,” he murmurs.
I nod. And I let him.
Alexander parks in front of my house, and we sit in silence for a moment. I asked him to bring me here, not to the penthouse, even though it’s closer to the hospital, because I didn’t want to risk running into Colin again.
Especially not with Alicia sleeping there tonight. Colin came to get her after I let him know I was heading to the hospital and didn’t know when I’d be back. I just didn’t want Alicia there with me.
I turn to Alexander. “Will you come in with me?” I ask.
He smiles as he gets out of the car and walks around to open my door. He keeps his arm around me all the way to the front door, and he doesn’t let go even after we step inside.
I lace my fingers with his and lead him to my bedroom.
The moment he walks in, his eyes go straight to the canvas. A smile forms on his face.
When he turns back to me, I whisper, “I know you must have questions.”
Alexander cups my cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently along my jaw. “You don’t have to tell me anything unless you want to, or until you’re ready.”
“I have to. I don’t want this sitting in my mind when I wake up tomorrow.”