Epilogue 2
My heart is swelling with pride at my husband as we stand at the arrival terminal of the airport, waiting for Sy’s mom. I know my husband isn’t thrilled with what I did, but he’s here, ready to pick up the mom he thought he couldn’t ever forgive. And maybe he never can, but the fact he’s willing to try speaks volumes. So, yeah, I’m so freaking proud of him.
“It’ll be okay,” I murmur, squeezing his hand.
“I know,” he retorts, not taking his eyes off the sliding doors in front of us.
Within minutes, people start walking through the doors. Even though I’ve committed the way Sy’s mom looks to memory, I can’t stop fidgeting. I don’t want to miss her in the sea of people walking by us.
“There she is,” Sy announces unhappily.
As soon as I see the woman, I want to laugh at how ridiculous I was being. With her dark hair, dark eyes, and sharp cheekbones, she looks like an older version of Sy. Well, that’s just half of it. Even the way she walks is so much like her son that it would be impossible to miss her.
When she reaches us, I give her a warm smile. While she puts down her carry-on-suitcase, I wait for Sy to say something. But when he holds his hand out to her like she’s a stranger rather than the woman who gave him life, I’m over it.
“Welcome to Minneapolis, Clarissa. I’m so excited to finally meet you,” I gush. Letting go of Sy’s hand, I step around him and hug the woman that had started to look a little lost.
“Lucia,” she beams, hugging me back. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Once we let go of each other, I look pointedly at Sy, but he still just stands there. By now, people have started pointing and staring, and it’s clear the cap he’s wearing is doing a shit job at hiding who he is.
“We should get going,” I suggest. When she reaches for her small suitcase, I grin at Sy. “Why don’t you take that?”
With an eye roll he takes the suitcase, not bothering to roll it. Because taking the two seconds to pull the handle up would obviously delay us gravely, he lifts it all the way to the car. During the short walk, I make small talk with Clarissa, and she tells me all about the flight.
“I’m not much of a flier. But it wasn’t that bad,” she explains, and I nod sympathetically.
“It can be rough this time of the year due to the weather, so I’m glad it was smooth,” I offer.
Though I act like I don’t notice it, I see the way she keeps looking in Sy’s direction. Her eyes are so sad I can barely stand it, and I’m starting to wonder if I made a mistake by inviting her here. Not just because my husband is being a dick, but because he’s clearly breaking her heart.
Without another word, we get into the car. Clarissa automatically climbs into the back while I slide into the front passenger seat. After about twenty minutes on the road, Sy finally joins the conversation.
“Where are you staying?” he asks gruffly.
“At a motel near—”
He scoffs. “A motel? Why the fuck are you staying in a motel?”
I slap his arm before turning in my seat. The forlorn look on Clarissa’s face makes my heart contract. I’m starting to feel really bad for her. This isn’t how I thought it would go. I mean, sure, I suspected Sy would be closed off—expected it even. Just not to this level where he’s being incredibly rude.
Almost every single night around 4am he tosses and turns, then after a few minutes he says something about his mom. That has to mean something, right?
“Maybe there wasn’t any vacancy anywhere else,” I suggest. “Most establishments are booked out this time of year.”
“But not all,” Sy grumbles. I turn just in time to see him look at his mom in the rearview mirror. “I figured you wouldn’t want to pay for a decent place, so I made a reservation for you.”
My head snaps to the side. “You did?” I ask incredulously. “Where?”
“Of course I did. She’s my mom,” he deadpans.
I frown, not liking the way he speaks about her in the third person. Lowering my voice, I say, “If this is too hard for you I can go to lunch with her myself. I really don’t mind.”
My husband looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s fine,” he says curtly.
Well, okay then.
We’re all quiet for the rest of the drive, and when we reach the fancy hotel, Sy tells her we’ll wait in the car while she checks in. As soon as she’s gone, I turn sideways so I can look at him fully.
“Is this too hard?” I ask. “Because if it is, I really don’t mind if you leave. We can say something came up, or—”
He runs his hand down his face and exhales loudly. “No, it’s better I stay.” He shifts and looks out the window, staying quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to say anything else. “I meant what I said, bunny. I want to forgive her. But seeing her… it just brings everything back. And I’m still so fucking angry with her.”
Nodding, I bite down on my bottom lip. I hate how much this is upsetting him, and it hurts me to know he’s still hurting. “Why are you so angry with her?” I ask softly. “I mean, I get she cheated, and I’m not going to defend that. But she really cares about you, Sy.”
“How do you know?” he retorts.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I pull my phone out and show him my message thread with her. “See,” I point at the date stamp for the first text I got. “This was the day the public found out Fabian had been stalking me, and that you flew to another continent to save me.”
“How did she get your number?” he asks.
Rolling my eyes, I admit, “I don’t know. Maybe from Tom? Does it really matter? Just read the texts.”
I stop talking, giving him time to read the texts. Every single one is about him. Clarissa was so desperate for news about her son that she asked me what was going on, probably knowing he wouldn’t answer her if she asked him.
“She was really worried about you. All she wanted was to know that you were okay.” I take his hand, holding it between both of mine. “I don’t know what kind of woman she was, Sy. But I think the woman she is today really cares about you.”
“Maybe,” he allows. I can hear the doubt in his voice. “But how can I know for sure?”
“Have you ever asked her what happened? Why she cheated on your dad?”
He scoffs. “I know why. It’s because she was a selfish—”
“Do you really know or do you just think you do?” I ask, interrupting him. “Because there was a time where you thought I’d cheated on Fabian with you.”
“Don’t bring up that bastard,” Sy growls, his nostrils flaring with anger.
Refusing to back down no matter how uncomfortable it is to bring up my dead ex husband whom we both hate, I carry on. “Then stop making the same assumptions and ask the fucking questions, Sy. Only two people can tell you what really went down, and as far as I know, only one of them is eager to be in your life. So either cut her off for good, or listen to what she has to say.” By the end of my tirade, I’m almost shouting.
It’s not that I don’t understand how hard this must be for my husband, and I hate that for him. But he’s not going to do himself any favors by being pigheaded. Sometimes we have to ask the hard questions, and stick around long enough to hear the answers.
“Sorry,” I say, softening my voice. “But look at us. If you’d never been willing to hear my side of the story, we wouldn’t be where we are. Maybe she deserves the same opportunity?”
Before he can answer me, Clarissa returns to the car. Her cheeks are flushed like she’s been rushing around, which seems likely since we haven’t waited that long at all.
“All set?” Sy asks, finding his mom’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, thank you,” she replies hesitantly.
Letting go of my husband’s hand, I move it to his thigh, my thumb running up and down his leg while he drives away from the hotel. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask Clarissa, doing my best to look at her over my shoulder.
“Oh, I’m not fussy. Wherever you want to go is fine.”
Her eagerness not to be a bother makes it hard to make any suggestions. If Sy wasn’t so closed off, I’d have suggested O’Jackie’s since he feels comfortable there. But no, that doesn’t seem like a good idea. Since we’re all dressed casually we could go to… hmm.
I look to Sy for help because it’s his mom and I’m unsure of what suggestions to offer. “How about the steakhouse?” he says, and I nod.
PrimeCuts is a steakhouse close to our apartment that we’ve been to a few times. The food there is outstanding, the dress code is informal, and all the employees are incredibly friendly. They always let us eat in peace, even if the women eye Sy more than I’d like. Can’t blame them, though. My husband is super fucking handsome.
As we step into PrimeCuts Grill Steakhouse, I can feel the tension thickening with every silent moment. Sawyer, Clarissa, and I are ushered to our table, and the weight of unspoken words hangs heavily in the air. I try to break the ice by suggesting some of the restaurant’s specialties to Clarissa, but the conversation fizzles out quickly.
Once the server takes our orders and brings our drinks, the silence settles over us once more, like a heavy blanket. I notice Clarissa’s gaze lingering on my hand, where the glint of her old wedding band catches her eye.
“Sy gave it to me,” I say, holding my hand up to show her. “It used to be yours, right?”
Clarissa nods slowly. “Yes, it did. May I?” When I nod, she takes my hand and moves it closer so she can better see the ring. “I hope the ring brings you better luck than it did me,” she says almost wistfully as she lets go of my hand.
Sy scoffs. “Yeah, luck.” He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to his side. “Lucia doesn’t need luck, Mom. She’s not the unfaithful kind, unlike certain others at this table.”
Ouch, that was harsh—too damn harsh. “Sy,” I admonish.
“No, it’s fine,” Clarissa says. “Don’t hold back, son. I’ve been waiting for you to let it all out for years. So let me have it.” Her tone is hard, and she holds his gaze without wavering.
We’re briefly interrupted when the server brings our food over, which feels like a breath of fresh air. Sy and I ordered the porterhouse, and Clarissa went for the filet mignon. All three of us chose the salads and roasted potatoes as well.
“This is delicious,” I say around a bite. “How’s yours?” I know I should shut up and let them continue their stand-off until one of them cracks. But my skin is crawling with how uncomfortable this is, and since it’s my fault, I feel responsible for the lack of conversation.
“It’s fine, bunny,” Sy replies. His tone is softer now that he’s speaking to me.
“Yes, thank you for suggesting it,” Clarissa says, daintily wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin after taking a few bites.
Now that everyone has answered my question, the silence ensues again. This time I focus on my food instead of forcing meaningless conversation. I make it halfway through my plate before Sy clears his throat.
“You ruined our family, Mom,” he says, his words laced with pain and anger. “You cheated on Dad repeatedly, and then you asked me to keep your secret.”
Clarissa’s expression tightens, her eyes flickering with hurt and regret. She opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it again, allowing Sy’s words to hang over the table. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling like an intruder in this intimate moment between mother and son. It’s clear that there are wounds here that have yet to heal, wounds that have shaped Sy in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
My heart contracts again, and feeling at a loss for what to do, I rest my head on my husband’s shoulder, silently letting him know I’m here.
Clarissa’s voice trembles slightly as she responds, her words heavy with remorse and sadness. “I know, Sawyer. I made mistakes, and I’ve regretted them every day since.” She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. “Actually, that’s not true. I don’t regret what I did. The only thing I regret and am so sorry for is how it affected you. As your mom, I should have shielded you, and I didn’t. That I regret.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightens, his eyes reflecting a mix of anger and frustration. “Saying you’re sorry isn’t enough, Mom,” he says, his voice strained. “You tore our family apart, and you expect us to just move on like nothing happened.”
The crushing weight of Sy’s accusation makes it hard to breathe. It’s a raw and vulnerable moment, one that lays bare the deep-seated emotions and unresolved issues that have plagued their relationship for years.
“If I may,” I say, speaking up. If I keep quiet, they’re just going to continue in the same loop of her ruining what Sy thought was a happy family, which I very much doubt was the case. “Why did you cheat on your husband, Clarissa?” God, I sound like such a rambling idiot, but I don’t know of a better way to ask.
Clarissa takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I wasn’t happy,” she admits, her voice trembling. She reaches her hand toward Sy, but when he doesn’t take it, she just lets it fall to the table. “Your father and I, we should have divorced long before we did. But I was scared, and I made mistakes.”
Sawyer’s expression softens slightly, but there’s still a guardedness in his eyes. “That doesn’t excuse what you did, Mom,” he says, his voice softer now but still tinged with hurt. “Wait a fucking second. What do you mean scared? Did Dad hurt you?”
“He never raised a hand to me if that’s what you’re asking,” she hurriedly replies. “But he was the breadwinner. Everything we owned was bought and paid for by him. I didn’t have anything of my own, so I was scared he’d be able to take you away from me.” She laughs bitterly. “Ironic that my own actions drove you away, huh.”
Tears gather in my eyes as I look at the woman. Her shoulders slumping with the weight of her guilt as she looks down at her trembling hands.
“Why did you never tell me any of this?” Sy asks, sounding more curious than angry. I decide to take that as a good sign.
“When should I have told you, Sawyer? You’ve been angry with me since you were just a boy, and the second you could, you left my house. You rarely answer my calls, texts, and emails. I can’t even get you to spend any time with me.”
Sy slams his fist into the table. “Don’t you dare make this my fault—”
She exhales audibly and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m not. I’ve spent years trying to make amends, trying to rebuild what I’ve broken. But I can’t change the past. All I can do is try to be better, to do better.”
There’s a moment of silence as Sawyer absorbs his mother’s words, his gaze flickering between her and me. I can sense the conflict raging within him, torn between the pain of the past and the desire for forgiveness and reconciliation.
Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his features softening as he reaches across the table to grasp his mother’s hand. “I’m not ready to let it go, Mom,” he says quietly. “But I’m willing to try.”
“Thank you, son,” Clarissa sobs. Tears stream down her cheeks as she gets up and excuses herself to the bathroom. Luckily, we’re seated in a quiet area so she doesn’t have to walk by anyone but the servers on her way.
My heart is about ready to burst with pride for my husband. I know it might not seem like a big step, but I know a little about what it takes to heal, and him allowing himself to try is a big deal.
Turning, I cup his cheeks and look into his dark eyes. “I’m so proud of you,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I confirm, nodding my head.
“How proud are you, bunny?” A grin tugs up the corners of his mouth. “Enough to give me your panties?”
I roll my eyes. “You perv,” I say as I lightly slap his shoulder.
He just shrugs. “That’s not an answer.”
Tilting my head to the side, I study him, trying to work out if he’s okay or not. Sy internalizes most of his shit, and that’s okay. That’s his way and I respect that. Ah, fuck it. If he wants my panties, he can have them.
“Fine,” I agree. “But I’m not going out there until your mom comes back.”
There are many things I’ll do for my husband. But as it turns out, stripping out of my thong with his mom in the next stall isn’t one of them.
“Deal,” he rasps, his eyes hooded with the same desire that’s making his voice gravelly.
“I love you so much,” I whisper.
Sy fuses our lips together. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling back so he can deepen the kiss. I moan into his mouth, momentarily forgetting we’re in public. “And I love making you moan,” Sy rasps into my mouth. “Something I’ll do a lot tonight. You owe me, wife.”
Getting lost in the kiss, I decide not to point out it’s the other way around. If it wasn’t for me and my meddling, Sy and his mom still wouldn’t have talked. This is one of those moments in life where we all know it, but no one—myself included—will say it out loud. Rightfully so. This isn’t about me, even if I’m feeling smug as all hell.
When Clarissa returns to the table, I leave them alone and head to the bathroom. It doesn’t take me long to hoist my skirt up and push my thong down my legs. Then, since I’m already here, I check on the bandages covering my inner thighs. They’re still fine, and thanks to the painkillers I had earlier, I can’t really feel the cuts.
I take my time walking back to the table since Sy and Clarissa look deep in conversation. Rather than heading straight to them, I go to take care of the bill, and only then do I return.
“There you are,” Sy grins wickedly. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Sy takes my hand and pulls me to him. “Do you have something for me, sweet bunny?” he asks.
As discreetly as possible, I pull the rolled up thong from my pocket and hand it to him. He immediately closes his hand around the fabric. To my horror he doesn’t hide them straight away. Not before bringing them to his face and sniffing loudly.
“Sy!” I hiss, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to us. Clarissa’s several paces in front of us, and everyone is caught up in their own stuff. “Put them away right now.” I both love and hate the smirk he shoots me as he tucks my used thong into his jeans pocket.
When we’re back in the car, Clarissa eagerly tells me that Sy’s going to show her around the arena. Her tone is filled with so much hope and happiness, I feel like I should excuse myself and let them have the time together alone.
“Why don’t you drop me off at home?” I suggest casually. “Gail wants to go over a few things, so I need to call her.”
“Oh, no. You should come with us,” Clarissa insists. “I want to spend more time with you, as well.”
One glance at my husband convinces me I’ve made the right decision. “Why don’t we all have breakfast together tomorrow?” I offer as a compromise. “That way I get to see you again before you leave.”
Clarissa doesn’t answer until we reach mine and Sy’s apartment. After kissing my husband, I get out of the car, and to my surprise, she gets out with me. “Thank you,” she says warmly as she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you for forcing him to see me.”
Feeling awkward about accepting the gratitude, I pull back. “It was all him,” I say with a smile. “If Sy didn’t want to see you there was nothing I could do. But he wanted it as much as you did.”
She nods. “You’re good for him, Lucia. I’m glad he’s found you.”
My eyes dart to Sy who’s watching us. “Me too,” I say truthfully. “I’d be lost without him.”