Chapter 27 #2
“Simon.” I swallow, keeping my voice steady, measured. “I already saved you twice. First, when I kept the files hidden and lost my job for it. And again, when I removed your name from the files I turned over.”
His eyes go soft, a sort of confirmation. He suspected it before, but he knows the truth now. My final act of love for him.
“You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t love me.”
“Maybe that’s true,” I admit. “But love isn’t always enough.” I tilt my head to the side. “Not when there’s no honesty to go along with it.”
“You know everything now.”
“No.” I press the word out, feeling the shape of it on my lips. “I still don’t know what happened to Pat.”
The color drains from his face. He presses a shaking hand to the table. “I told you what happened.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences that big. They saw Pat, saw that he wasn’t like them.” Those words, Pierce’s echo, are bitter on my tongue. “And they thought they knew what was best. And so…they did what they had to do, and then they took her.”
“Astrid, I’m begging you. Let’s move on. Please. Together. We can do it. We can do anything. I believe we can.”
A long, terrible silence settles between us.
I press my lips together, waiting.
Finally, he breaks, his face crumpling, blood-red. “It was an accident.”
“They killed him.”
“No.” His voice is harsh, unsteady. “It was…” He lowers his head, shaking it. “They protected me. It’s why…it’s why I tried to help them. Because I know how much they love me.”
The floor shifts underfoot. This, I hadn’t been expecting.
“Astrid, I’m begging you. Please. Please believe me.
It was an accident. I never meant to… I never…
I loved her. Lia. I loved her, and he was going to send her away.
I was a kid. A dumb kid. We were fighting because he thought I wasn’t good enough for her.
Me. Good enough. He was… He worked for us.
How could he…think I wasn’t… That she was better than…
” He licks his lips, shaking the thought away.
“I shoved him, but I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t.
He hit his head on the guest house mantel.
I…I panicked. I was just a kid. I swear I never meant…
My parents…they cleaned it up. Covered it up.
I know you must hate them, but they aren’t bad people.
At the end of the day, all they ever tried to do was help people. Kids. Me.”
Everything slows down around me, my brain working to piece together the scenes he’s painting. I can’t breathe. Can’t think straight.
It makes sense, and yet, none of it makes any sense.
I don’t want it to make sense.
Finally, I force out a long, slow breath. “I need you to leave, Simon.”
His jaw drops open, eyes hurt. “But—I, wait. I was being honest with you. That’s what you asked me to do. You wanted to trust me, and I’m proving you can.”
“It’s not enough.”
“You’re going to turn me in.”
I shake my head because I still can’t. I should. Maybe it’s at this moment I relate to the Mornings most of all. Maybe this is when I see just how well I might’ve fit in with them.
“I can’t,” I say softly, hoping it’s enough of an answer. “But I can’t be with you ever again either. I need to move on. Protect myself. Choose myself.”
Because no one else ever did. No one since Mom.
“I have to be better for her.”
His eyes bounce to my stomach, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He nods, just once. His voice cracks. “You were the best thing I ever had.”
I swallow, but I can’t bring myself to speak. It’s too hard. I’m afraid of what I might say.
He wipes his face with his hand, stands, and slowly moves toward the door. Every few steps he looks back, like he thinks I might stop him. As he opens the door, he pauses.
A final look back. “Do you hate me?”
The question hangs between us. I walk the tightrope between truth and lie, deciding.
“No,” I say finally. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
He nods once more, shoulders slumped, and then he’s gone. The door shuts softly behind him.
I refuse to cry. I refuse to dwell.
I move to the sink and begin washing dishes.
I never wanted this, I tell myself when the doubt starts to creep in. This is the ending they wrote for themselves in a story I never belonged to.
Just days after my daughter is born, a reporter calls. One I don’t know. One who has questions.
Her voice is crisp and polite. I’m a mess of exhaustion and pure joy.
“We’re following up on the story of the downfall of the Morning family,” she says. “You and your husband are the only members of the Morning family who haven’t been involved in this media storm. Would you like to comment?”
“Simon is my ex-husband,” I tell her, rocking my sleeping daughter in my arms. “I’m no longer connected to the Mornings.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” She pauses. “Still, though, you must have some thoughts. Do you believe they’re guilty? Do you think they deserve what’s happened to them?”
I glance out the window at the peaceful morning unfolding, then back at my daughter. I trace her perfect features with my eyes—my nose, Simon’s lips.
“You know,” I say softly. “I think karma comes for us all, eventually. I don’t think anyone can outrun their choices forever.”
I can hear her typing. “And what do you think comes next for them? Do you think they’ll be able to find redemption?”
I think about that for only a moment. “I don’t think I’m the right person to answer that question. Only the people they hurt can do that.”
“Do you still speak to them? Are you in contact at all?”
“No,” I tell her. “But I’m sure they want their peace. They’re…” I bite my lip, half delirious. “They’re a house in mourning, after all.”
She laughs softly. “Fitting?”
“Accurate.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Morning.”
“Ms. Lee,” I correct her, then I end the call.
Later that night, once my daughter is asleep in her crib, I open my laptop to check the latest updates on the anonymous donations made to the families torn apart by the Mornings’ crimes.
Therapy and medical bills. Legal funds. Support however they need it.
It’s the least I can do with the child support Simon offered up.
Piece by piece, I am rebuilding what they destroyed. It’s beautiful and poetic, or maybe that’s just the exhaustion talking.
Either way, as I drift off to sleep knowing I’ll wake in just a few hours for another feeding, I find myself smiling.
It’s real peace.
And it’s all mine. I wonder…as I drift off to sleep, if the Mornings—and people like them—will ever know what it feels like.