Chapter 11
"He made us breakfast." A quick laugh escaped her as she reached for her glass of iced tea.
"Two mornings straight. I was in complete and utter shock.
The first morning was oatmeal and it was damn good.
The second morning, this morning as a matter of fact, was Spanish omelet.
It was slightly burnt, but nonetheless..
." Her eyes glowed. "The very instant I told him about taking the week away and that I met someone, it was as if something changed. "
She eyed her silent friend curiously. "Honey, you haven't said a word since we got here."
"Still trying to process," Grace said lightly as she stirred her fruit punch. Picking out the cherry, she popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly. "You don't find it strange?"
"What?"
"The complete three-sixty. He spent his entire life treating you like a commodity and suddenly he's being supportive. What gives?"
Tamping down the spurt of anger and fear, Kadian lifted her chin. "You're not going to spoil it for me."
"I'm merely trying to be the voice of reason here and your friend. I would sincerely like to jump up and down and cheer your victory, but I can't. It sounds as if your old man is playing you. And as your friend I warn you to be careful. When are you going to tell him the whole truth?"
Her euphoria plummeting, Kadian took a sip of her water.
"When I come back."
The familiar clink of ice in glasses mingled with the hum of lunchtime conversation, and for a moment Kadian allowed herself to sit with the uncertainty.
She couldn't shake the warmth of the morning, the simple gesture, the way her father had looked at her, as if seeing not just his daughter but a person in her own right.
Still, Grace's doubt settled on her shoulders like a shawl too heavy for her.
She shifted in her seat, tracing beads of condensation down the side of her glass. "I know how it sounds," she admitted quietly, "and I know I've spent years bracing for the worst. But this, him making breakfast, talking about change, I want to believe it's real. Maybe I'm being naive."
Grace leaned forward, sincerity in her gaze. "Maybe you're not naive. Maybe you're just hopeful. But hope needs guardrails."
Kadian managed a crooked smile. "Guardrails. Got it."
For a moment, the two sat in companionable silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.
Kadian watched a shaft of sunlight dance across the tabletop and let herself remember the taste of cinnamon, the unexpected comfort in her father's voice.
She wasn't sure what the next days would bring, but for now, she decided she'd let herself savor the possibility that things could, at last, be different. If only in her head.
"He seemed different," she mused.
"As in changed?"
Kadian nodded. "For the first time he spoke freely about her, about my mother and his fear of losing me."
Grace felt a quick spurt of fear but decided to keep it light.
It seemed to her that Luke Donaldson was a very crafty individual.
And a complete narcissist. She had suspected as much for a long time, but now it was confirmed.
The man was playing his daughter like a fiddle.
Her friend had told him about meeting someone and his attitude had taken a turn for the better.
He was leading up to something and she wanted to warn her friend to keep a look out.
If her feelings were right and she knew they were, he had something planned.
She sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting Grace's concern linger in the air like a warning bell muffled by hope.
The café windows caught the late morning sun, fracturing it into golden slivers across their table.
Outside, a magpie hopped across the sidewalk, bold and unbothered by the world's uncertainties.
Kadian set her glass down and gazed out, searching for assurance in the ordinary bustle. "I want to believe he's trying," she murmured, almost to herself. "Maybe after everything, people really can change. Maybe he's tired too of all the anger, the silence."
Grace's lips pressed together, a silent verdict withheld. "Just don't let your guard down. Not yet."
A small, grateful laugh slipped from Kadian. "You sound like my conscience."
"That's what friends are, right?" Grace's tone softened, almost affectionate. "Consciences with better wardrobes."
For the briefest instant, Kadian allowed herself a sliver of hope, fragile and glimmering, nestled between suspicion and longing.
Change, she knew, moved at its own pace, stumbling, uncertain, sometimes real.
She traced a pattern in the condensation on her glass, a private map of wishes yet unfulfilled, and chose, just for this moment, to stay at the crossroads where fear and hope meet.
Whatever her father's motives, whatever the truth waiting at the week's end, she would carry this morning with her. A moment when the world seemed, if only for a breath, unexpectedly kind.
"What is that gorgeous man of yours saying?"
The cloud descended again, but she refused to allow it to take root. She and Leon were not really communicating. He told her it was work and the busyness of trying frantically to reorganize his schedule before the trip, but he was distant, and she could feel it.
"He's... we're..." She gestured with one hand, the movement restless. "He's upset with me. I feel as if I'm losing him."
Her friend gave her a sharp look. "You're being ridiculous and paranoid. That man loves you to pieces."
"And sometimes love is not enough." She allowed the sadness to color her tone.
"What if we acted too swiftly? What if it's all a mistake?
We barely know each other and all the secrets and lies are bound to hamper our happiness.
We're married and haven't spent much time with each other.
What if when we do, we discover that we cannot live with each other? "
"What's this?" her friend demanded. "You two have given me hope that love, and I'm talking about the real thing, not just a quick flare of passion and then boom, it's gone.
Real and strong and lasting love exists.
Of course, you're going to find a way to live with each other.
You're just going to have to get through the hurdles. "
"And if we can't?"
"Then my hope in humanity is screwed." She reached out and touched her friend's hand. "Love will conquer all, at the end of it."
*****
"You're distracted and not doing justice to the good housekeeper's excellent pork loins."
"What?" He proved how distracted he was by giving her a puzzled look. "I apologize."
"Darling, what on earth is bothering you?" Lisa had invited herself to dinner to talk about the progress of the clinic and to get out of the apartment while her husband was doing an all-nighter at the hospital.
"Just a lot to do before the trip." He stirred himself enough to take another bite of the meat. His appetite was non-existent and that had been for the past week. Not only that, but the worst part was he could not concentrate on work.
"Is that the only thing?" she asked curiously. Picking up her glass of wine, she took a sip, eyes trained on his face. "You look tired."
"Thanks." His dry tone had her smiling.
"I would think that you are looking forward to spending time with your wife."
The anger threatened to overwhelm and had to be tamped down.
"That's just it right there. Spending time with her. Sneaking around and begging for scraps from my wife."
"Wasn't that what you signed up for?"
His hand was not quite steady as he lifted the glass to his lips. "I was crazy in love and would have done anything, say anything to make her mine."
"And now?"
"Now?" He shrugged restlessly. "Now, I'm not so sure we did the right thing."
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You're telling me you no longer love her?"
He smiled mirthlessly. "Oh, there's no chance of that changing and believe me, I've tried.
I love her endlessly. The thought, the very idea of being without her makes me sick to my stomach.
I wake up in cold sweat and start to reach for her only to discover she's not there.
" He put his glass down and shoved the plate away.
"I keep having this recurring dream that things are ending and I don't know what the hell to do about it. "
Lisa was silent for a moment, her fingers tracing circles on the rim of her wine glass.
The soft glow of the dining room lamp threw shadows across the table, and the clink of cutlery against the china filled the space between them.
She regarded him, reading the lines of anguish etched so deeply it seemed they had always belonged to him.
"Nightmares don't foretell the future," she said quietly. "They only show us what we're most afraid to lose."
He gave a hollow laugh, rubbing his brow as if trying to erase the worry. "I know. It's just... I never imagined loving someone could feel like this. Like you're holding onto something so precious and so fragile, you're terrified every second you'll drop it."
Lisa leaned forward, her voice gentle but unwavering. "You're not alone, you know. Everyone who's truly loved has stood on that edge. The question is whether you let the fear drive you apart or if you use it to fight for each other, every single day."
He looked up, eyes clouded but searching. "And what if fighting isn't enough? What if... what if love doesn't conquer all?"
She gave him a small, knowing smile. "Maybe it doesn't conquer every obstacle outright. Maybe sometimes it just gives you the strength to keep trying, to pick up the pieces and try again. That's what real love is. Not the absence of struggle, but the refusal to give in to it."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The storm of doubt in his chest slowed, just a little, and the silence felt less heavy, more like the hush before a dawn.
He picked up his glass again, but did not drink.