Chapter 12 #2
“She’s not coming down, is she?”
I shake my head.
Dad pats his shoulder. “I’ll give you two some space. I’ll be in the kitchen with your mother if you need anything.”
I grab my coat and motion for Colin to follow me outside. We step onto the porch. I sit in one of the wooden chairs, and he takes the one across from me. For a while, we just sit in silence. Having to be around him after everything feels like a punishment.
“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” he asks finally.
I look down, my fingers tracing the arm of the chair. “I don’t know, Colin. I hope so. I know how deeply this hurts them. They’re just kids… they shouldn’t have to carry pain like this.”
He swallows hard, his eyes closing. “And you?” His voice falters. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”
I draw in a slow breath. “I’ve never been through something like this. There’s no timeline. No guidebook.”
I wait for him to look at me, needing him to understand the sincerity of what I’m about to say.
“And if I’m being honest, the only reason I try to keep even a minimum of civility with you is because of our children. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even be able to look at you. I wouldn’t speak a single word to you ever again.”
Colin looks at me, hurt, pain, and guilt written plainly across his face.
“But I hope that one day I can,” I continue. “For me—not for you. Because I don’t want to live with this bitterness, this pain, this resentment, this anger forever. It eats you alive, Colin. From the inside out.”
I shake my head slightly. “And I don’t want that. Not for me, and not for our children.”
He nods, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t forgive myself. Not now, not ever… not after everything. I don’t even know if there’s anything left I can do to make Ethan talk to me. And Alicia…”
His voice breaks. “She doesn’t even want to see me anymore.”
He drops his head into his hands.
“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says finally. “Not from any of you.”
I say nothing. There’s nothing left to say.
He’s finally beginning to understand the damage he caused to our family.
“I’ve been looking into therapists for the kids,” I tell him after a moment. “Felicity recommended one her own therapist suggested, but I’m searching for other options. I want them to start as soon as possible.”
He nods. “That’s good. They’ll need someone they can talk to. Things they won’t want to tell even you.”
“Exactly. It’s about giving them a space to process all of this.” I hesitate. “What about you?”
He frowns. “Me?” Then he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Therapy isn’t going to fix me, Cecily. I broke this. I have to live with it. And I don’t have the time. Not with everything going on at the company right now.”
I nod. I expected that. Colin has always been a problem-solver—if he can’t fix something his own way, he won’t let anyone else touch it.
“You should still go,” I say. “I’m looking for one for myself too.”
He doesn’t answer — just watches me, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name.
“How was Christmas Eve?” he asks finally, his voice careful, reaching for safer ground.
“Good,” I say. “Peaceful, actually. Mom outdid herself with dinner. The kids laughed, loved their presents. It was... a nice night.”
He nods slowly, staring out past the porch rail.
“And you? How was yours?”
“Uneventful. Dinner with my parents. The usual people. I left early.”
I don’t need to ask why. His family has always been the opposite of mine—polite to a fault, cold beneath the surface.
Since everything happened, I’ve only heard from his mother once. A carefully worded phone call assuring me that time heals everything.
Time doesn’t heal everything. It just teaches you to live around the wound.
I want to ask him about the one thing neither of us has had the courage to say out loud. The thing that makes the pain and resentment feel even deeper.
The reason our children might never forgive him.
If it’s true... if he’s going to be a father again, I don’t even know how I could ever forgive him for that.
But before I can say a word, the front door creaks open.
Alicia stands there, my mother’s hand resting gently on her shoulder. Colin shoots to his feet so fast the chair nearly tips backward.
“Alicia,” he says, his voice cracking. “You came.”
“Grandma asked me to,” she murmurs, not meeting his eyes.
I glance at my mother—her chin lifted in that familiar, stubborn way that always makes me feel twelve again. But I don’t lower my head. I let my eyes speak for me, let them show just how hurt and disappointed I am by her interference.
“I—I brought your present,” Colin stammers. “I think you’ll like it. It’s inside, under the tree. I can get it for yo—”
“You can leave it there,” Alicia interrupts. “I’ll see it later.”
She then turns to my mother. “Can I go now? I saw him. I said hi.”
I close my eyes, pressing a hand against my stomach, as if that might be enough to keep the pain contained.
“You can go, princess,” Colin says, his voice controlled but barely holding together. “Thank you for coming down.”
She turns and goes back inside with hurried steps, before any of us can say another word.
“I know you meant well, Ellen,” Colin says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “But don’t ever do that again.”
“She’s a child, Colin,” my mother replies evenly. “There’s so much she doesn’t understand—”
“And I’m respecting that,” he cuts in. “You should too. She’s your granddaughter.”
My mother presses her lips together, nods once, and walks back inside.
The tension that follows is suffocating.
“She called me he,” Colin says, his voice breaking. “Not Daddy. Not even Dad. Just… he.”
My gaze drifts to the spot where Alicia stood just minutes ago. I close my eyes, and I can still hear her voice—Daddy!—echoing through the house every time he came home.
Colin leaves not long after, saying he’s staying at a small inn nearby, the only place he could find available at the last minute.
When I go back inside, Mom is standing by the fireplace, arms crossed, her eyes heavy with unspoken judgment.
“I shouldn’t have had to talk to Alicia and convince her, Cecily,” she says, her tone edged with frustration. “Colin is her father.”
I take a slow breath, grounding myself. “Yes, he is. And I was there too, remember? I’m the other half that brought her into this world.”
I meet her gaze. “And you’re right—you shouldn’t have forced Alicia. You should have trusted me to handle my own daughter.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I shake my head.
“You’re her grandmother,” I say evenly, “but I’m her mother. And if I’m not pressuring my children, if I’m respecting their limits and their feelings, the least you can do is the same.”
My voice stays calm, but firm. “Don’t ever do something like this again, Mom. Or you won’t just lose Alicia’s trust and respect… you’ll lose mine too.”
“Sometimes I think you don’t understand, Cecily.”
“Don’t understand what?” My voice trembles, but I don’t back down. “That my children are hurting because of his choices? That their world fell apart because of decisions I didn’t make?”
I lower my head, exhausted. “I’m glad you’ll never have to go through this, Mom. You were lucky to marry a man like Dad. A man who respects the vows he made. Who always chose you.
I lift my eyes to hers. “But please, don’t tell me or my children how we should feel.”
She pales and doesn’t say a word.
I hate that it’s come to this—that we’re standing on opposite sides, and that it’s so hard for her to step into my shoes and truly understand what this feels like.
But maybe now, she finally will.
This isn’t about pride or anger. It’s about survival.
Colin
December 28th.
Nineteen years.
Today marks nineteen years since I slipped a ring on Ceci’s finger.
Nineteen years since my name became part of hers.
Nineteen years since I stood before God and everyone we loved, promising her forever.
Promises I broke. One by one.
For nothing. For something I thought I wanted.
For a distraction that became my undoing.
The kind of choice that rewires your entire life… and then plays on repeat, day after day, until you can’t remember what peace used to feel like.
The cabin Ceci and the kids are in is less than two miles from here, but they might as well be on another planet. I can feel the distance growing… day after day. I’ve never felt further away from them.
I tell myself to stop thinking about her.
But then I open the photo album.
I took it from my old office the last time I went by the house. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Maybe part of me knew I’d need to see her again—not the version of her who won’t look me in the eye now, but the one who used to laugh so easily in my arms.
My fingers trace the photos like they’re sacred. Like the vows I made should have been for me.
Us at the altar. Me kissing her for the first time as my wife, her veil brushing against my cheek. The light in her eyes when the church doors opened. The handfuls of rose petals raining down as we stepped outside, her laughter threaded through it all.
There are several photos of us dancing. Every angle. Every smile. Our first dance, to the same song playing right now from my phone, the sound spilling softly through this damn inn suite.
All the Way. Frank Sinatra.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
I used to tell her that song was our compass. “Who knows where the road will lead us, only a fool would say...”
Turns out I was the fool.
I can still see her dress. Ivory silk, delicate lace along the neckline, the small satin buttons that I unfastened with reverence on our wedding night, like it was our first time.
She looked like a queen that day.
My queen.
And I… I was the man who vowed to protect her, love her, never let her feel alone.
And then I became the reason she felt all those things.