10. Meredith
MEREDITH
I watch as June staggers down the hallway, beelining for the bathroom.
“What happened in there?” My question is directed to Mark, though my eyes don’t leave the now-closing bathroom door.
There’s a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”
But I want to go after my sister.
I’m down the corridor within seconds, trying to shoulder my way through the door. She’s locked it behind her. “June?” I knock once, twice. “June!”
Nothing. Maybe the door is too thick, perhaps she can’t hear me, maybe she?—
“She’ll want to be alone right now.”
I finally turn back to look at Mark. His expression is drawn tight at the edges.
I ask again. “What happened?”
Instead of repeating himself, he simply gestures with his head toward the side conference room we’d waited in initially, before leading the way.
As soon as the door closes behind us, the words are out of my mouth. “How bad?”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, which is never a good sign. Mark likes his punchlines clean. “It wasn’t what she wanted. Or what he wanted. Or even what I thought would happen.”
My chest tightens. “Just tell me.”
He sits heavily, elbows on his knees. Nothing about him is put together anymore. “She asked him if their whole relationship was a lie.”
I feel that sentence like a hook in my sternum, sharp and merciless. My feet take me to the chair next to him, and I fall heavily. “Oh, June…”
“The whole conversation just derailed from there.”
“So he didn’t confirm or deny anything?” I ask needlessly. “Nothing’s changed then.”
He offers me a grim look. “If it makes you feel any better, the guy looked pretty blindsided that she didn’t trust him.”
“But that could mean anything,” I counter.
He shrugs. “He said he loved her. Maybe that’s enough.”
“She must be devastated.” I press my hand to my mouth, refusing to let myself read any further into Mark’s words and focusing on how my heart is breaking for my sister.
He shifts, sighing long and hard. The weight of the day is a near-tangible thing on his shoulders. “Guess we ran out of miracles in the end.”
It’s a mutual sentiment, the despondency a shared thing in the sterile room around us.
A rare moment of being on the same wavelength, belatedly taking me by surprise.
I look up at the man at my side, at his defeated shoulders and dark circles beneath his eyes, and wonder if he had hoped for a different outcome.
If there had been more on the line for him than I’d anticipated.
“It’s not your fault,” I find myself saying. “You didn’t have to do this in the first place.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I did, though. You would’ve never respected me again otherwise.”
“Mark.”
He looks at me then, dark eyes boring into mine. The warning tone is entirely ignored. “You said it yourself. You didn’t think I was capable of being a good man. Well, here I am, trying for you, and look where it’s got us? June is probably worse off than before.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t need you to do this.”
“But you wanted me to,” he corrects. “You wanted me to pull off a miracle without asking for something in return, and I did it. And for what, Mer?”
I look away. Unable to find an answer.
“What was the point? I made things worse, and for what?” He laughs tiredly.
“Nothing. I get nothing. I keep running in these circles, throwing everything I have to help your sister, to help you, to pull off the seemingly impossible. Yet every single time, I’m the one who goes home alone, exhausted and used. I get absolutely nothing.”
His eyes stay fixed on me, searching for a crack.
“You get everything you wanted. Your sister is safe. Your freedom. Your clean break.” His voice goes softer, more dangerous. “And I don’t even get a thank-you.”
“Thank you,” I say forcefully, knowing the words are manipulated from me but unable to escape the guilt of it. “I mean it. You did everything you could for us.”
“For you.”
And suddenly, the air between us thickens. The part of me that remembers loving him aches. The part that remembers surviving him steels.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “All I want,” he murmurs, “is a kiss.”
My stomach plummets. “Mark, absolutely not.”
“I’m not asking you to rethink the divorce. I just…” He exhales shakily. “I need closure. I can’t go home again without it.”
My pulse throbs in my throat. I can feel the back of my chair pressing into my spine as he draws closer. I know by now not to trust him, not to put any stock into the things he makes me feel. But the truth is, I pity him. I pity the version of us he still clings to.
The one he keeps chasing in his mind when he couldn’t even meet me halfway in real life.
“Just one,” he murmurs, closer still. “One kiss. Then I’ll let you go.”
I close my eyes.
It shouldn’t matter, but something old in me aches to lay this to rest in a way that no divorce papers will genuinely be able to satisfy.
Our last kiss had been a fleeting thing. Mundane and brief, a passing of boats in the night as he left the apartment to meet with his soon-to-be-discovered mistress.
In the months that followed, I’d thought about it often. I’d even longed, as Mark now seemed to, for something more final. A more respectful end to almost a decade of marriage. But he’d never offered me that courtesy.
But I could offer it now. Put an end to it all. No more second-guessing, no more traps, no more dragging this out. It would mean nothing to me now, but if it made Mark stop, then it would be worth it. If it made him realize that the thing between us was long dead…
“Fine,” I breathe out. “One.”
His relief is visceral. He wastes no time. He cups my jaw with a hand that trembles.
I tell myself it’s just one kiss as he comes far too close. I tell myself it’s just an old bad habit as my lips part to meet his. I tell myself it’s just rage, as my mind goes blank.
He kisses me like a man praying for resurrection. A collection of perfect kisses remembered and combined as if to scream You like this; I know you like this.
It’s gentle. Tragic.
And I feel…nothing.
No spark. No longing. Just the faint sadness of an old song I used to love.
When he pulls back, he searches my gaze like he’s waiting for the miracle he thinks he earned. But whatever he sees instead makes his hope flicker. His voice drops to a whisper. “Meredith…”
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s over, Mark.”
Something fractures behind his eyes. A crack in the fa?ade, sharp and glinting.
Then he smiles. But it’s not a kind smile. Or a sad one. Or even a manipulative one.
It’s the smile of someone who believes that he is unstoppable.
“Well,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ll change your mind. You always do.”
My blood runs cold. Because that kiss was supposed to stop him, it was supposed to make him realize. It was supposed to end this.
“No. I won’t.”
He just smiles.
“Mark. I won’t!” But it doesn’t work. Doesn’t convince him.
Just then, a hoarse voice sounds from the corridor outside, “Meredith?” and I’m on my feet, both in retreat and drawn to my sister’s distress.
She pushes through the door with heavy, pained movements. She looks…
“Are you?—”
“Can we just go?” She blinks up at me. Completely and utterly exhausted.
And suddenly, I need to get her far, far away from this place. From Mark.
And I know instinctively, as we retreat further away, June tucked under my arm, that it’s not just June that needs distance.
I need to hide. I need time. I need to keep myself away from anyone who might give Mark leverage.
Until the divorce is finalized. Until I’m free for real.
Until his delusion shatters once and for all.
June 2026
It’s been almost a week since Mom was admitted, and even though Richard and I have been trading shifts like dutiful little soldiers, catching sleep and meals in twelve-hour increments, I still feel wrung out.
Today is discharge day, so I throw myself into logistics. It’s easier to focus on tasks with clear instructions—lift her bag, sign the papers, and ask the nurse the list of questions I already know the answers to but need to double-check anyway.
It’s easier than thinking. Thinking leads me into the swamp of emotions.
I know I need to talk to Eddie, I know that. He deserves better than this, better than waiting. Every hour I don’t talk to him, the knots in my stomach tighten.
But he was right, of course. I’ve been in no state for that conversation while Mom remained in the hospital, fighting off an infection that’s left her near-catatonic for days. Grateful for the few mumbled sentences she could offer in those moments between fits of sleep.
She’s better today, more alert, as if she knows full well that today’s the day she gets to make her escape. Her mood only sweetens when we get her into the back of Richard’s car, humming tunelessly and petting the sleeve of my sweater as if it were a cat.
By the time we reach the house, I’m already anticipating the work ahead.
The downstairs has been rearranged, and Mom’s bed needs to be carried down before she has the energy to protest. But it’s a needless worry in the end.
Mom doesn’t seem to notice. She just blinks up at me from the couch once we’re done, taking in the additional furniture as if it had moved by itself.
“Who’s sleeping down here?” she asks.
I turn to her with a smile plastered on my face. “I thought you might like to, Mom. The view is much nicer down here.”
She glances out the window, examining how the turning summer has brightened the sand and sky. The distant sea crashes relentlessly as it always has against the shore. “All right, baby.”
Richard moves her bag into the corner and gives me a nod before making his retreat—the coward.
With a sigh, I help her out of her seat. “Come on then; let’s see if it’s comfortable.”
It takes a moment to rearrange her pillows appropriately and tuck her under the comforter.
The sheets are the same pale blue they were when we were children.
As I perch on the edge of the mattress, fussing over her hair, I have to suppress the urge to sink into bed next to her.
The exhaustion of my life is catching up with me.
“What are you thinking about, Mer?” she asks, voice soft, almost lucid.
I blink at her in surprise. It’s been a while since she’s called me by name. “Just trying to figure out my life, I guess.”
She pats the space next to her, and I find myself gratefully lying back on the bed.
“That sounds dramatic,” she says cheerfully once I’ve settled, returning the favor by running her fingers through my own hair.
I huff out a laugh despite myself. “Well, it feels dramatic.”
She studies me carefully as her fingers continue to work their magic. It’s deeply comforting to feel the knots and tangles loosen their hold. I find my eyes flickering shut under her ministrations.
“I’ve made some mistakes,” I admit. “And I need to fix them. But the conversations I need to have scare me.”
Her hands don’t falter for a second. “Everyone makes mistakes, baby.”
“Not like mine.”
“Exactly like yours.” She taps her finger against my nose, and my eyes flicker open again. “You forget I’ve lived a long time. Longer than you. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
I frown, turning my head slightly to watch her. “Like what?”
“I knew Aiden was having an affair.”
The words slam into me like a dropped stone. “What?”
She nods, unperturbed as she returns her fingers to my hair. “Your father was seeing someone in Los Angeles. She wrote me once. I burned the letter.”
I gape at her. “And you stayed with him?”
“For my girls,” she says simply.
I don’t know what to say. For once, I’m the one left speechless.
“Sometimes…” Her gaze drifts toward the window, to the familiar shore. “Sometimes your own happiness isn’t the most important thing. And if that means you have to make some mistakes…well, I think they’re worth it.”
My throat feels exceptionally tight. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She sighs, patting my head affectionately before withdrawing. “I loved him, even when he disappointed me. And when he died, I thought I should at least choose someone next who would never do that to me again.” A tiny laugh. “Richard isn’t perfect, but he isn’t a cheater.”
I sit back, mind spinning. Mom knew our father had stepped out on her and stayed anyway. Not because she was weak. Because she made a choice. A deliberate one.
And suddenly, something in my chest unlocks.
I don’t have to be passive. I don’t have to let fear choose for me. I don’t have to keep drowning and staying silent about it.
Mom leans back against her pillow and closes her eyes. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, baby.”
And suddenly, I’m done hiding.
I’m done letting life happen to me.