Chapter 40
ELIZABETH
Vlad is married, and Valentina is pregnant, and the happiness I feel for them is marred by the fact that someone is trying to frame me.
And even worse, Matteo believes them.
I don't even know where to begin untangling this mess. A constant ache has lodged itself somewhere between my chest and stomach, following me around all day. Walking into the office this morning was one of the hardest things I've ever done. For a few seconds, I stood outside and considered leaving.
I didn't.
I've spent too much of my life fighting to get where I am. I don't run from my worst fears. I confront them.
By the time I get home, I have a throbbing headache.
It's been awful.
Seeing Matteo for the first time since he abandoned me at the wedding reception, I didn't know what to expect. He looked rough, he looked how I felt, and once again I couldn't help but think, how is it that we're at this place?
I didn't expect him to still be so adamant. To still believe that I was behind this. It hurts more than ever. I thought the time apart would make him see reason but, if anything, he seems even more convinced I’m guilty.
He's even reduced my access at work.
But Alex has offered to help me, so that's something. I resented him when I first saw him, but he came over to me. He's the bigger person. I understand there's a protocol to follow, and thinking about it on the journey home, a part of me is surprised that Matteo didn't fire me.
I want to think it's because he's giving me a chance to prove my innocence, but I won't allow myself to hope too much.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and I wipe them away, determined not to bawl. I've been trying to hold it in all day, but I feel so close to breaking.
I look through my kitchen cupboards and the fridge, and feel deflated when I see that I have no food at home. It was late when I got back last night. I haven't even checked in on Arthur and Irene. I'll go over later today, once I've put myself back together.
I'm about to order takeout when there's a knock at the door. I know immediately who it is, and I rush to open the door, relief surging through me when I see Arthur standing there. For the first time all day, some of the tightness in my chest eases.
“Lizzie,” he says, a warm and beautiful smile spreading across his face. A smile I desperately need. “You're back.”
He leans forward and hugs me, and I fall into his embrace. It's like a warm, comforting blanket, and I hold on to him for a little longer than normal.
When I pull back, he looks at me. “Bad day?”
Luckily, I'd wiped away my tears before opening the door. I laugh weakly. “It hasn't been too great.”
“How was your trip? How is your beau?”
“Oh …” My voice wobbles.
“You're having dinner with us today, Lizzie. Come on. I've set your plate. It's been a while and we can catch up.”
“Okay,” I say, because I need to be with people I love. I need to not be alone.
A few minutes later, I'm in their apartment.
“We're having soup today,” he announces cheerfully. He's already set the table for three.
I go to Irene. She's sitting on the couch, staring at the TV which isn't on.
“Irene,” I cry, bending down and putting my arms around her.
She looks up. “Hello, Tillie. When did you get here?”
I look over at Arthur.
“H-hi, G-grandma,” I say. “Just now. Just an hour ago.”
“You've grown up so much,” she says, then turns to Arthur. “Artie, is it ready yet?”
“It’s ready.”
I have an even bigger ache in my heart.
I go over to help him, but I see the pain in his eyes.
I set the table, as Arthur helps Irene to the table. She can walk, but he's always so scared that she might fall. Today she looks especially fragile.
My heart sinks. Everything around me is falling apart, and I’m hurting over Matteo, over being framed, but somehow watching Arthur and Irene hurts even more. Irene is remembering her granddaughter. Her dementia has carried her elsewhere, and the realization breaks something inside me.
“The bread rolls are nice and warm. Just the way you like them,” Arthur tells Irene, helping her to the dining table.
While he's busy with Irene, I quickly sneak a peek through the fridge and cupboards. He has canned goods, but the fridge is empty. As is the fruit bowl. A wave of guilt engulfs me. There’s no fresh food here.
No fruit or vegetables. Nothing with any nutritional value.
Dinner consists of a basket of bread rolls and what looks like clear vegetable soup.
I feel so bad that I wasn't here to take care of them, even though I couldn’t help it.
“Lizzie, come on. Let's eat.” He catches me going through his fridge. “I was about to order supplies,” he says, looking guilty. “I've been a bit busy.”
Something inside my chest breaks. I will take care of this.
“Don’t worry, Arthur. I can help now that I’m back.”
We go to the table, and everybody eats.
“This is good,” I say. It's canned soup, but it tastes good, and I'm starving.
“Are you staying the night, Tillie?” Irene asks.
The ache in my chest deepens. “Not tonight, Grandma. I'll come and see you tomorrow, okay?”
She doesn't say anything. She just eats silently.
I'm sitting in a thick fog of guilt and hurt, trying to comprehend the weight Arthur carries every day.
My heart is broken, but at least Matteo is still out there somewhere.
Arthur is grieving someone who's still alive.
It must be unimaginably difficult, watching the woman you've loved for decades disappear piece by piece.
Yet despite that, Arthur is still here, showing up every single day, loving Irene and taking care of her even as she slips away from him.
My lips tremble as I fight another wave of tears, trying not to break down. I love Arthur and Irene, and suddenly all I can think about is how unfair this is.
It's not just my life. It's theirs.
My eyes well up with tears, and I sniffle, wiping my eyes. The bread sticks in my throat, and I need a gulp of water to wash it down. Arthur notices, and peers at me, his face creasing with concern. I shake my head, not wanting to talk about it.
“I'll help you clear up,” I say later, when we've cleared the table. Irene moves over to the couch again, this time, slowly knitting. I insist on washing the dishes.
“What happened?” Arthur asks.
I don't even know where to start.
I don't even know what to say.
“Don't feel sad for Irene,” he says, when I struggle to answer, because I don't know where to even begin. I feel my lips wobble as I try not to cry.
“Are you okay?” he steps closer, and this time I burst into tears. The floodgates open, and I can't hold it back anymore. I stop washing and take a step back, to compose myself.
“It's not just Irene, is it?” he asks, softly. “Looks to me like you're carrying a lot on your own.”
“Story of my life,” I say, letting out a bitter laugh.
“How about you tell me what's going on?”
So I do. I stop and lean back against the countertop while he sits down and then I tell him.
I don’t tell him everything. I don't tell him about the tech glitches at work or about Vlad, but I tell him enough.
That Matteo and I had a disagreement—that's what I call it. I tell Arthur that Matteo thinks I did something I didn't. That somebody at work is accusing me of something I had no part in. And the man I care about doesn't trust me.
He listens the whole time, without interrupting.
“I don't know how to fix it, Arthur,” I say, at the end.
He takes his spectacles off, then cleans them on his woolen jumper. “Sounds to me like you're carrying a lot on your own, like you always do. And you've also got a habit of assuming you have to solve everything yourself.”
I open my mouth to argue, but close it again, because he's right.
“But I don't know what to do,” I say, again.
“Start with the truth. Whatever you're being accused of, find the truth, and uncover that. I suspect what complicates it is that beau of yours, not believing you, but I have a feeling that you know how to fight your corner, because you’re a fighter, Lizzie. Not a flower, and I mean that in the best possible way. Do what you have to do, and everything will work out.” He sounds so convinced. So full of faith.
I wring my hands together. “I don't know.”
“You will fix it. Lizzie. Because for as long as I've known you, that's what you always do. You keep going. You keep doing. Despite everything, you've never let anything stop you, kiddo.”
He knows about my foster care, and that I've been broke and that I’ve had particularly lean times in my life. He knows that I started a company that wasn't doing well. He knows how stressed I was about the Knight Enterprises interview.
He's seen that I survived.
And I will survive this too.
I hug him, thank him, wash the dishes, then go back to my apartment.
Just before I get into bed, I sit on the edge of it, thinking about tomorrow.
Another day at the tech lab.
This time, though, I’ll walk in with my head held high, my shoulders back, my chin up. Because I know the truth, and I’m done letting other people write my future for me.