Chapter 18 #2
My chest aches watching her fall apart. It hurts, deeply, knowing my father did this to her.
“Less than an hour later, he came out of the house… with a woman,” she whispers. “It was dark, but I could see she was younger. She wore a black dress, low neckline, high heels. They were holding hands.”
Her voice shakes. “I wanted to leave. Pretend I hadn’t seen anything. But when they got into his car, I followed.”
Her voice falters, the memory clearly not as distant as she tries to make it seem.
“They went to a French restaurant,” she continues, her voice lower now.
“I went in about twenty minutes later and told the host I would sit at the bar and have a drink. I spotted them almost right away. Far side of the dining room. Candles, red roses… your father holding her hands, kissing them. They looked like a couple. Like she was his wife, not me.”
I look at her, trying to process what she just said.
“I couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken me somewhere like that,” she whispers. “I ran out like the place was on fire, terrified they’d see me… terrified of what would happen if they did. I sat in the car, crying, until I finally had enough strength to drive home.”
When she finishes, a soft sob breaks loose.
I get up and move to the couch where she’s sitting, then lower myself beside her and wrap my arms around her. She leans into me right away, folding against my shoulder, trembling. I just hold her while she cries.
After a while, she pulls back. I reach for the tissue box on the coffee table and hand it to her. She holds the tissue to her eyes for a second, then lets her hand fall.
She takes a long breath. “I’m not done yet.”
I squeeze her hand gently. “You don’t have to, Mom.”
She shakes her head.
“I do. I can’t stop now.”
She draws in a breath, her fingers holding on to mine for a moment before she pushes herself to her feet and speaks with her back to me.
“Your father came home three days later. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even have the courage to unpack his suitcase. I was terrified of what else I might find… things I now knew weren’t accidents anymore.”
I close my eyes, bracing myself.
“There was a note,” she whispers at last. “In the pocket of a pair of trousers I was about to wash. In his handwriting. ‘Thank you for the incredible weekend. Didn’t want to wake you so early. See you soon. With love, P.’”
Her voice breaks completely on those last two words.
“In the other pocket, I found a scrap of black lace lingerie and a photo… a hand with perfectly manicured nails, a bracelet glinting against olive skin. A beautiful piece.”
She swallows, and when she speaks, her voice wavers. “But it was the note that destroyed me. With love.”
She covers her mouth, trembling.
“Your father found me crying in our bed when he came back from the market. He was holding a bouquet of white roses… and he just froze in the doorway when he saw what was beside me. Everything that shameless woman had left in his suitcase for me to find.”
My throat tightens. “What happened after that?”
Mom turns and walks to the armchair across from me, sitting right on the edge.
“He begged for forgiveness. Swore he’d end it. Said he only loved me. He told me he didn’t know how he’d let it get that far, that it was some kind of foolish infatuation… but seeing me like that brought him back to his senses.”
I frown. “And he told you how it started?”
She nods slowly, eyes closing as if the darkness makes it easier to speak.
“He met her after a lecture he gave. Some of his friends knew her. They went out for drinks and dancing. He drank too much that night… and it happened. And then it happened again. A few times.”
For almost a year, he practically lived with us,
The words replay inside me. The same cold, broken line Maya delivered in this very room.
“And you believed him?” I ask, unable to hide the disbelief in my voice.
“Cecily,” she says, her voice calm in a way that feels too controlled, “I know what happened with Colin will change how you see all of this, maybe forever. But your father loves me. I never doubted that. I believe him. He said he would end it, and he did. It was a meaningless affair. He wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last man in that stage of life to make a mistake like that. ”
I think carefully before speaking.
“Mom… I know it’s been a long time, but maybe Mark could look into it. There might be things you don’t know, things Dad didn’t—”
“No.”
Her voice cuts through mine. There’s no hesitation in it.
“I already know what I need to know. Your father told me himself. I trust him and our love.”
“And how can you trust him so blindly? For months, he looked you in the eye and lied about what he was doing. Where he was going. Who he was with. He was leaving notes for another woman—meeting her again and again.”
Her gaze turns cold.
“Everything you said... it’s only part of what happened. Your father wasn’t himself; he said it was like being in a fog. But in the end, he chose me. He knows where his heart belongs.”
I’ve read about it. They call it ‘affair fog.’ It’s almost ironic how there always seems to be a term to dress up even the ugliest human choices.
Knowing that pushing any further won’t change a thing, I hesitate. “I’m sorry for asking this, but… did you at least get a full panel done back then?”
“Cecily!” she gasps, outrage cutting through her voice. “Your father isn’t careless or ignorant. He wouldn’t take that kind of risk without the necessary precautions.”
I close my eyes, trying not to think about how that blind faith, that kind of ‘love’, could have put her health at risk without her ever knowing.
When I speak again, my tone is gentler.
“Why did you stay, Mom? Did you ever think about leaving him?”
Mom stands and moves to sit beside me. She takes my hands in hers and looks straight into my eyes.
“Because I love him. Because he loves me. Because we have a beautiful story. And because we have you.”
The smile on her face is almost dreamy, as if in that moment she’s clinging to the beautiful memories that blur the ugliness of everything my father did.
“What happened only made us stronger. Your father stopped traveling for more than a year; he turned down every conference just to be home with me, to give me peace of mind. We started doing things together again. Dinners out, thoughtful gifts, dancing in the living room for no reason at all. We found our way back to each other… like we did when we first fell in love.”
I study her face and see it—genuine happiness, or maybe the version she’s chosen to keep.
But I don’t say a word, knowing she isn’t finished yet.
“That’s why I keep telling you to think long and hard about the divorce,” she says, more gently. “I know it hurts, but I also know you can come out stronger if you choose love over anger.”
She smiles again and reaches up to stroke my cheek.
“You and Colin can still be happy, sweetheart. Don’t let that woman ruin the beautiful life and family you’ve built. Don’t do that to yourself.”
I nod, squeeze her hands, and rise to my feet.
“You’ll think about it, won’t you?” she asks, hope shimmering in her voice.
“I’m always thinking, Mom,” I reply subdued. “But I also think you should know everything that happened in the past. I can help you with that, if you’d like, but I won’t push you.”
She purses her lips. “There’s nothing in the past for me to find out.”
“Maybe not. But you’ll never know for sure if you keep hiding from the truth.”
What I don’t say is that I won’t try to change her mind. That I respect her choice. I just wish she’d respect mine.
That it was easier for her to forgive my father because she never had all the facts. Because she never saw the evidence lined up—timestamped and damning—the way I did.
So, I say nothing else.
Because if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that everyone wants to believe the lies they tell themselves, and you can’t force anyone to choose truth over comfort.