Chapter 10
Theo
Ibarely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the envelope on the console table, her wedding ring, the letter, and the sentence that refused to leave me alone.
You never seemed to realize loving them didn’t require choosing me less.
By seven-thirty I was sitting behind my desk at MacArthur Capital with a mug of coffee that had already gone cold. I hadn’t opened a single email.
Malorie knocked lightly before stepping inside. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
She hesitated. “You have a nine o’clock strategy meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
She blinked. “Cancel it?”
“I’ll reschedule.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“No.”
The word surprised both of us. She nodded gently. “I’ll move everything I can.”
“Thanks.”
After she left, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.
My phone rang.
Mom
For a second I stared at her name. Normally I’d answer before the second ring, without thinking, without hesitation. The phone kept vibrating against my desk.
Finally I answered. “Morning, Mom.”
“There you are.” Her tone was bright. “I’ve been trying to reach David.”
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing serious.”
Relief flickered through me. “Good.”
“He needs someone to go with him to the insurance office.”
I waited.
“He asked if you could meet him at eleven,” she said.
I looked at the calendar on my screen. Nothing I couldn’t move. Normally I’d already be reaching for it.
“I can’t,” I said.
Silence.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t today.”
Another pause. “But David needs you.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t understand all the paperwork.”
“He’ll figure it out.”
Mom laughed softly, as though I’d made a joke. “Oh, Theodore.”
“I’m serious.”
The laughter disappeared. “You’ve always helped.”
“I know.”
“So what’s changed?”
Everything. Nothing. I wasn’t sure anymore.
“I can’t today,” I said.
She sounded genuinely confused. “Is this because of Josephine?”
My grip tightened around the phone. “Mom...”
“I heard she left.”
Of course she had. Families didn’t keep secrets for long.
“I’m trying to fix my marriage,” I said.
“So fix it tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes. Tomorrow. The word landed harder than she’d intended.
“Mom...”
“David needs you today.”
“No.”
The silence that followed was almost unnatural. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said that word to her.
“Theodore.”
“I said no.”
Her voice hardened. “I don’t understand you.”
“I know.”
“Your brother has no one else.”
The words came out before I had time to reconsider them. “He has you.”
Another silence. Then, quietly, “You’re being selfish.”
The accusation hit me squarely in the chest, maybe because for the first time in my life I wasn’t sure she was right.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Theodore—”
“I love you.”
I ended the call before she could answer.
The office fell silent. I stared at the phone in my hand, my pulse racing. I’d just told my mother no. Not because I didn’t love her, and not because David wasn’t family. Because for the first time I’d asked myself whether everything truly needed me, and the answer had stopped being yes.
The office phone rang less than five minutes later. Malorie’s voice came through the speaker.
“Your brother is here.”
I closed my eyes. “Send him in.”
The door opened before I’d finished speaking. David walked in carrying a thick folder under one arm.
“What the hell, Theo?”
I looked up. “Morning.”
“No, don’t ‘morning’ me.” He dropped the folder onto the chair opposite my desk. “Mom said you refused to come.”
“I did.”
He stared at me as though I’d started speaking another language. “Why?”
“I’m dealing with something.”
“We all are.”
“This is different.”
He folded his arms. “It’s the insurance office.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ll manage.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’ll manage?”
“You will.”
He laughed once, without humor. “Since when?”
I leaned forward. “David, you’re forty-three.”
He blinked.
“You can fill out paperwork,” I said.
“It’s not the paperwork.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know what questions they’re going to ask.”
“If you don’t know something, ask.”
He looked genuinely offended. “I’ve always had you.”
The sentence landed harder than either of us expected. Neither of us spoke.
David frowned. “What is going on with you?”
I thought about telling him Josephine had left, about the letter folded neatly in my briefcase because I couldn’t bear to leave it at home.
“I can’t keep doing everything,” I said instead.
His expression shifted from confusion to irritation. “No one’s asking you to do everything.”
I almost laughed. “No?”
“No.”
“You called me because you didn’t want to go to the insurance office alone.”
“So?”
“So you’re capable of going.”
“It’s easier if you’re there.”
“Exactly.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand the problem.”
Of course he didn’t, because I’d never let there be one.
Every flat tire, every contractor, every financial decision, every difficult conversation.
If there was a problem, I’d solved it. If there was a form, I’d filled it out.
If there was a phone call to make, I’d made it.
I’d spent so many years stepping in that my family had stopped stepping forward.
The uncomfortable truth settled over me. They weren’t incapable. They were accustomed.
David picked up the folder. “So you’re really not coming?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”
He headed toward the door before stopping. “I’ll tell Mom not to bother asking next time.”
The words were meant to sting. Instead they made me wonder why asking me had always been the first option.
The door closed behind him. A few seconds later my phone buzzed.
Mom: I’m disappointed in you.
Then another message.
Sofia: David said you wouldn’t help him. Is everything okay?
Then another.
David: Thought I could count on you.
I looked at the three messages in silence. Not one of them asked how I was doing, or mentioned Josephine, or wondered why, after decades of saying yes, I’d finally said no. Their disappointment wasn’t that I’d stopped loving them. It was that I’d stopped making myself available.
I set the phone face down on my desk. For the first time, something I’d never noticed before became clear. My family hadn’t become dependent on me overnight. I’d taught them they could be.
The therapist’s office overlooked a quiet park on the north side of the city. I’d driven there almost without thinking.
After Gwen refused to tell me where Josephine was, she’d handed me a business card instead.
“You need someone who isn’t me,” she’d said.
I’d looked down at it.
Dr. Emanuel Cains, PhD
Marriage and Family Therapy
“I don’t need therapy,” I’d said.
Gwen had held my gaze. “No.” She’d spoken so quietly it almost sounded like sympathy. “You need someone who can help you understand what you’ve done before you ask Josephine to come home.”
I’d made the appointment that afternoon.
Now, sitting across from Dr. Cains, I was more nervous than I’d ever been walking into a board meeting. He was probably in his sixties, with silver hair and kind eyes that seemed to notice everything without making me uncomfortable.
“What brings you here, Theo?” he asked.
“My wife left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
He nodded once. “Tell me what happened.”
I did. The anniversary dinner, the weekend away, the letter, the wedding ring. I told him about my family, about Dad dying, about becoming the person everyone called. About David, Sofia, Mom.
When I finished, he stayed quiet for several moments.
“You love your wife,” he said.
“More than anything.”
“I believe you.”
Relief flickered through me. “She knows that too.”
“I’m sure she does.” He folded his hands in his lap. “So let me ask you something.”
I leaned forward. “Anything.”
He looked at me steadily. “If Josephine had needed you at the exact same moment...” He paused. “That Sofia called about Lilian...”
My chest tightened.
“Who would you have chosen?”
The answer should have come immediately. Nothing came. My mind searched desperately for another option, another solution, another way to avoid the choice altogether.
“I...” The word caught in my throat. “I would’ve...”
Would have what? Asked someone else to take Josephine? Left the hospital halfway through? Gone to Sofia first? Gone to Josephine first?
Every answer was dishonest, because I already knew what I’d done. I’d heard Sofia needed me and I’d left. I hadn’t paused, hadn’t asked if someone else could go, hadn’t wondered whether Josephine needed me too. I’d assumed she would understand.
Dr. Cains watched the understanding settle across my face. “You don’t have an answer.”
I lowered my eyes. “No.”
The word barely escaped me.
He nodded gently. “I don’t think that’s what troubles you.”
I looked back at him.
“I think what troubles you,” he said, his voice calm, “is that for the first time, you’ve understood your wife already knew the answer.”