Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
K athleen slammed the cutlery drawer shut, harder than necessary. The sound echoed through the kitchen, sharp and final, hurting her head but she didn’t care. The kettle began to boil behind her, but she ignored it. She was too wired to want tea.
Anger pulsed beneath her skin and she’d barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darlene at the door, lounging with that smug expression, eyes glinting with satisfaction. And behind the bedroom door, Veronica—hiding like a criminal.
The late-night lessons, the gentle touches, the love making were all a performance. She’d let herself believe that this one person saw her for who she was at last. That someone as polished and poised as Veronica could want her.
Veronica was a Glass Spinner. She’s spun her web and Kathleen had willingly sailed right into it.
She grabbed a mug and then changed her mind and set it down again. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting.
God, she’d been such a fool.
Darlene had realized who her dinner guest was as soon as she saw that coat. She’d thrown the poison dart right into Kathleen’s heart: “ I hope your lover is as good a fuck as Veronica.”
Kathleen pressed her palms against the counter and tried to breathe.
Without a qualm, she’d told Veronica to leave. “Please. Just go.”
Veronica hadn’t begged, hadn’t argued or fought for her. She’d simply nodded and walked out. The door had closed with a definitive, final click.
Now the silence inside Kathleen’s apartment stretched on like a punishment.
She walked through the living room, ignoring the rumpled throw on the couch, the leftover scent of rosemary and wine, the glasses still in the dishwasher. A part of her was waiting for the sound of a knock, a message, something. But nothing came.
She tried to tell herself that she was better off. That Veronica was an actress, a beautiful liar. But beneath the anger, something else had begun to curdle. Something softer and far more terrifying.
Regret.
Kathleen sat on the edge of the bed and let her hands drop to her lap. She stared at her fingers, nails too clean, too neatly trimmed. Her entire body felt too still, like she was pretending to be calm while her insides collapsed.
She thought of the way Veronica had touched her with patience and kindness. How she had slowed everything down until Kathleen wasn’t afraid anymore to be touched, and even helped her to reciprocate.
No one had ever made her feel so safe and wanted.
Now, she didn’t know what to believe.
She didn’t cry, but her eyes stung and her throat ached, and her breathing came too quickly. She gripped the end of the counter, unable to process her thoughts anymore. She wanted to shut down completely, curl into a dark room and stay there forever.
But work didn’t allow that.
She dressed mechanically, putting on slacks and a shirt without really registering what she was doing. She tied her hair back and brushed her teeth too hard. When she looked in the mirror, her eyes looked overbright, her face pale. She was a wreck, looking like someone who had been abandoned.
On her way to the lab, she avoided everyone.
When Ted greeted her cheerfully, she nodded silently. He asked if she wanted to go over the test results; she told him to email them. The fluorescent lights were too harsh, the lab smells too sharp. Her hypersensitivity was turned up to ten.
She couldn’t focus.
She went through the motions. She logged into her console, checked system diagnostics, reviewed calibration reports, but it was automatic, like watching herself from above her body.
By afternoon, she was hunched in her office with the blinds drawn, noise-cancelling headphones on, staring at data she couldn’t parse. Her mind kept circling back to the apartment. That moment when Veronica stood at the door with hurt in her eyes, refusing to explain, refusing to fight.
Did she lie to me? Or did I make a mistake?
Kathleen shut her laptop and rested her forehead on the desk. The static hum of the building filled her ears. It was comforting in a weird way, white noise that didn’t require thought.
She didn’t know what she wanted more: for Veronica to come back and explain, or to disappear completely so she could start forgetting her.
Something inside told her that neither would happen, and that hurt most of all.
When she heard the door of her office open and Ted talking to someone, she raised her head in surprise. Everyone in the building knew this laboratory was off-limits. She turned to see her mother walking towards her.
“Come on, Kathleen, I’m taking you home,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Knowing it was useless to protest when her mother spoke like that, Kathleen stood up shakily. “Yes, Mom.”
Rhonda nodded to Ted as she led her out by the hand. “Thank you, Ted. I’ll take care of her now.”
He gave Kathleen an apologetic look as she passed by, then closed the main door behind them. They were silent in the lift and through the foyer, and when they reached her mother’s Volvo, she slid into the passenger seat without a word.
They drove in silence for nearly ten minutes and then Rhonda glanced sideways at her. "What happened, love?"
Kathleen shook her head. "Nothing."
Her mother’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll go somewhere quiet and you can tell me all about it.”
When they arrived at the Knowles house, Rhonda led her inside and wordlessly helped her out of her coat. She guided Kathleen to the sunroom and pressed a warm throw blanket into her hands. “Sit here. I’ll be back.”
Kathleen obeyed, curling up on the lounge, staring at the pale winter light filtering through the glass. Her mother returned with soup and a small plate of buttered toast.
“It’s your favourite,” Rhonda said gently.
Kathleen looked at it but didn’t reach for the spoon. Rhonda didn’t push, simply sat beside her, not crowding her, her hands folded in her lap.
Minutes passed.
Then Kathleen gave a shaky breath. “I messed everything up.”
Her voice cracked and broke, and the dam burst.
“I broke up with my girlfriend,” she said, eyes brimming. “I told her to leave. I didn’t even let her explain.”
Rhonda’s mouth softened, but she said nothing.
Kathleen buried her face in her hands. “I thought she lied to me. Someone said something nasty and I believed it. I threw her out.”
Rhonda reached out and gently touched her back. “Okay,” she said softly. “Keep going.”
“I was so scared,” Kathleen said, her voice raw. “I’ve never let anyone get so close. And she made it so easy. She was patient, and kind, and she didn’t rush me. She … waited. Like she understood.”
Tears slid down her cheeks and she didn’t bother wiping them away. “I thought I was finally getting it right. That maybe I could have someone like other people. Then I ruined it.”
Rhonda moved closer and drew her into a hug. Kathleen let her, collapsing against her shoulder.
“It hurts,” Kathleen whispered, “so much I can’t breathe sometimes.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Rhonda murmured, stroking her hair. “You loved her.”
“I still do.”
“You’re allowed to. Because she’s not here doesn’t mean what you feel disappears.”
They stayed like that for a long while. When Kathleen finally pulled back, her face was blotchy and her eyes red.
“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“I might not understand everything,” Rhonda said gently, “but I know how it feels to lose someone you weren’t ready to see go. And I know that loving someone—really loving them—is never foolish.”
“I thought she’d come back.”
Rhonda sighed. “I don’t know if she will, but you must decide what kind of person you’ll be for her if she returns.”
Kathleen blinked. “What if she doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll survive that too. Your father and I will be here for you. You don’t have to get over this quickly or pretend you’re fine.”
Kathleen gave a soft sob that turned into a hitch, and then another. “I don’t know how to move forward.”
“You don’t have to yet,” Rhonda said, brushing her hair from her forehead. “You have to sit still long enough to feel it. That’s how healing starts. Can you stay with us for a couple of days?”
Kathleen nodded. “Ted can look after things.” She leaned against her again, closing her eyes. For the first time in what felt like days, she let the silence be comforting rather than crushing.
They sat there as the light faded, the soup untouched, the world on pause. It was enough for the moment.
It was nearly six when they heard the front door open and close. A moment later, her father’s voice called, “Hello?”
“We’re in here,” Rhonda answered softly.
John Knowles appeared in the doorway, still in his overcoat, a folder tucked under one arm. He took one look at Kathleen curled on the couch and his face changed.
He stepped inside, set the folder down, and knelt in front of her. “Rough day?”
Kathleen gave him a tiny nod.
“Want to get out of here for a drive?” he asked gently. “You and me. No questions.”
She nodded again.
He rose, kissed Rhonda’s cheek, and said, “I’ll take her somewhere quiet.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were in his car, heading out of the city. Neither spoke much. Kathleen stared out the window, her head against the glass, watching the light fade over the buildings.
He took the back roads, avoiding traffic, letting the car coast through the hills. Eventually, they turned into a narrow gravel path marked with a faded wooden sign : Grey Oak Sanctuary.
Kathleen blinked at the familiar name. “I haven’t been here for years.”
“I brought you here every weekend when you were a kid,” John said as he parked the car.
They stepped out into the cold, late afternoon air. The sanctuary was quiet, except for the distant murmur of water and birdsong. A wooden boardwalk wound through the wetlands, flanked by reeds and lines of thin trees.
They walked in silence for a while, side by side.
Then John said, “I don’t know what happened, Katie, and I won’t pry. But I know the look on your face. I’ve worn it often enough myself.”
She didn’t reply, knowing he wasn’t expecting her to. They kept going until they reached a small viewing platform, where they leaned against the railing to lookout over the water.
“I still come here when things get too much at the hospital,” he said. “It’s not much, but something about the birds makes everything feel better.”
Kathleen gave a small, broken laugh. “I used to think they were secretive, like they had their own codes.”
“They probably do,” John said. “Just not ones we get to learn.”
She fixed her eyes on the ducks bobbing in the distance. “I made a mistake.”
He waited.
“I pushed someone away because I was scared. And now I don’t know if I can fix it.”
John nodded slowly. “Then try. If it doesn’t work, you’ll learn from it. That’s all any of us can do.”
She was quiet for a long time before she said, “Did you ever think you’d lose mom?”
He turned to look at her. “I did once during a stupid argument. I said something cruel, she got in the car, and left. I thought that was it. Turns out she’d driven to the florist down the road to cool off.”
Kathleen gave a tearful laugh.
John bumped her shoulder gently. “Sometimes love is about staying through the awful bits, and often it’s about walking away when you’re not ready to. But either way, it teaches you something.”
They stood watching the dusk settle over the sanctuary, the air turning crisp and clean. When a heron flew low across the water, its wings nearly brushing the surface, Kathleen closed her eyes and let the ache in her chest loosen—a little.
“Can we stay a bit longer?” she asked.
John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “As long as you want, kiddo.”