Chapter 12
Zoe
"Next, calling up our top graduating scholar for the Department of Computer Science," the dean's voice echoes across the microphone, "Elizabeth Olive Walters."
The auditorium erupts into applause. Sitting in the front row, a wave of pride hits me so hard my eyes blur instantly.
I pull my son, Nate, into a tight hug against my side, pressing a kiss to his temple while he cheers for his older sister.
On stage, Elizabeth adjusts her robes and steps up to the podium, looking down at us.
"First, I will keep this short," she begins, her smile radiant under the stage lights.
"I want to thank God for helping me through my school days here, and for keeping me up until the very end.
I want to thank Mom and Dad." She extends a hand, pointing directly to where Chris and I sit side by side.
"Then I would love to thank everyone who made my stay here memorable. I want you to know that I will never forget what you’ve done for me. "
She pauses, looking out at the rows of younger students. "Then, a word for the youngins."
The auditorium breaks into spontaneous laughter, and a chuckle escapes my own lips. I stare at my daughter, a fierce pride bursting from my ribs.
"Dare to dream," Elizabeth continues, her voice steady and clear. "And when you dream, make sure it is a dream big enough that it scares you. If you put your mind to it, you will achieve it. Even the Bible says, As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he."
I stand up immediately, alongside Chris, Maya, and Greta. We all begin to clap loudly, our cheers blending into the roaring crowd.
"Oh, my beautiful baby," I whisper, wiping away a steady stream of happy tears. She is so grown.
***
Later that evening, the celebration shifts to a private banquet hall at the hotel, paid in full by Greta and my husband.
"You did so well, baby," Greta says, gently patting Elizabeth's arm. "Come on, tell me what you want for a graduation gift?"
"Well, an apartment and a car," Elizabeth trades with a grin.
"Really?" I chime into the conversation, stepping up beside my mother-in-law. "You want to live far away from us, huh?"
"Uh-uh, you won't say a single thing now, Zoe," Greta interrupts, lifting her chin. "This is exactly what my granddaughter wants, and so she will get it."
I offer a small nod, smiling at the fierce love in Greta's eyes. I open my arms, and Elizabeth steps into my space, hugging me tightly. While her face is buried in my shoulder, she whispers against my ear, "How are things between you and Dad?"
I pull back slightly, playfully shaking my head to maintain my composure. "He's been behaving good."
"And that's good news, right?"
"Yeah. I guess it is."
"Picture time!" Chris shouts from the center of the hall.
Elizabeth giggles, walking over to join Maya and her uncle.
We all line up, posing for several rounds of photographs.
Eventually, the long day catches up to the family.
Greta gets tired, opting to head upstairs to her suite with an already sleepy Nate and Julius.
Elizabeth accompanies them to help her grandmother navigate the elevator with her walking stick.
With the children and Greta gone, the room thins out, leaving only me, Maya, Jasper, Sarai, and my husband.
The soft rhythm of a slow song begins to play through the speakers. Chris stands up from his seat and walks directly over to my side of the table. He extends a hand, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Come on, let's dance."
I look up at him, a small smile playing on my lips. I glance around the empty space of the banquet hall, trying to silently communicate that nobody else is on the floor.
Chris shakes his head, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of my ear. "We've done worse things in public, Zoe. Why are you shy now?"
The low vibration of his voice sends a shiver straight down my spine. I lightly slap his chest, but I stand up anyway, letting him guide me onto the floor. He pulls me into his chest, his nose drifting along my hairline as he takes a deep breath.
"I've missed this peculiar scent of yours, baby," he murmurs.
I lift my eyes to meet his, keeping my posture slightly rigid. "Well, you aren’t going to have it beside you anytime soon if you don't make me trust you enough to come back, Chris." I tilt my chin toward the table where Sarai sits watching us, ensuring he understands exactly what stands between us.
"I know," he says, his voice sounding rough around the edges. He leans forward, rubbing his forehead gently against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "But allow me to say it anyway. I've missed you, Zoe."
The desperate pull in his voice is unmistakable, a raw yearning he is no longer trying to hide.
"I know."
He stares down at my mouth, his head tilting. His tongue darts out, lightly brushing the center of my lower lip. "I've missed your lips."
He leans in to close the remaining distance, but I place a flat palm against his shoulder, weakly pushing him away even though every muscle in my body welcomes the mere thought of his touch.
"No."
Chris nods, checking his stride. "What can I do, Zoe?"
"I don't know, Chris. It's up to you to figure that out."
Before he can respond, the sharp smash of shattering glass echoes through the quiet hall, followed instantly by a loud scream. I turn my head toward the noise. Sure enough, the commotion is coming from our table. Sarai is standing up, surrounded by broken shards of a wine glass.
I look back at my husband. His eyes are shut tight, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. I can see the silent battle happening inside him, the exhaustion of the old obligation pulling at him to move.
"It's fine," I tell him, my voice flat. "Go on ahead."
He opens his eyes, staring down at me, clearly trying to force himself to ignore the scene at the table. But we both know the reality of our past five years; something will always happen, and she will always find a way to get him running to her side.
"It's fine, Chris. Go."
He squeezes his eyes shut again. "I promise I love you, Zoe. I just... I just..."
I pull my hands out of his grip, stepping backward to break our frame, and begin walking toward the table.
I leave him standing alone on the empty dance floor.
Maya immediately slides into the chair beside mine, her brow furrowed with concern.
I raise a hand, giving her a quiet wave to let her know I am fine.
And I am fine. A strange clarity settles into my mind as I watch the scene unfold.
He doesn't love her. He just feels obligated to her.
The realization leaves a hollow space in my thoughts; I want to find out exactly why that obligation exists, but that is a truth he has to find the courage to tell me himself.
Chris finally marches over to the table, his face entirely blank, devoid of any smile.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and sets it down on the table.
Pushing past the hotel staff members who have rushed over with napkins—whom Sarai is actively resisting—Chris leans down.
He lifts her bridal-style into his arms.
As he turns to carry her toward the exit, Sarai looks over his shoulder at me, her face strained with tears.
"I'm sorry," she whimpers.
I let out a harsh huff at the absolute audacity of her words.
Chris carries her through the doors, leaving his phone behind on the linen cloth. I look over at my sister, whose jaw is hanging wide open in disbelief.
"What?" I ask.
Maya looks at her husband, Jasper, who simply shakes his head.
"She's a drama queen," Jasper mutters, looking at the empty doorway. "What audacity."
A sharp, ironic laugh escapes my throat.
"Why don't you go return his phone?" Jasper asks, pointing a finger toward the table. "His phone is ringing."
I look down at the lit screen buzzing against the wood, then look back at Jasper. We both know the message he is trying to pass across. I hear the unspoken nudge clearly.
"Go," Maya says, rubbing my arm gently.
I scoop the phone off the table and follow their direction, stepping out of the banquet hall.
***
I stop just short of the terrace doors, hidden by the stone pillar and the trailing vines Greta had strung along the railing for the evening reception. Chris and Sarai are on the other side of the glass, their voices carrying low over the distant sound of the string quartet inside.
"Stop, Sarai," Chris's voice cuts through the cool night air, tight and worn thin. "I wanted to forget all of it. Every single thing my wife pointed to over the years. I told myself there was no way my brother's widow could actually have feelings for me. I told myself that."
"You love me too, don't you?" Sarai's voice wavers, soft and pleading in the dark. "You've been taking care of me."
"I love my wife." A long pause follows, the silence stretching between them. "The reason I've taken care of you is because—"
"Because of what happened that night, right?"
Chris goes completely quiet. When he speaks again, his cadence is slower, careful. "What night?"
"The night before your brother died," Sarai says, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "You met with him at the office."
"How do you know that?"
"I heard you talking to your mother after the funeral."
"So you've been taking advantage of my guilt this whole time," Chris says.
"Don't you get it?" Her voice rises, cracking at the edges as she steps closer to him. "We're meant to be together, Chris."
A dense silence settles over the terrace. Then Chris lets out a low, humorless laugh that makes my skin go cold. "I felt bad for the wrong person. I'm done, Sarai. I'm done being the one who helps. And one more thing—if I ever see you interfering with my wife again, don't even think about it."
The sound of footsteps echoes against the stone. I press my back flat against the pillar, my knuckles whitening around his phone as my heart beats too fast. My mind circles the one word that caught in my throat: guilt.
Something happened the night before Julian died. Something Chris carries, something Sarai has apparently been holding over his head for years, dressing it up as comfort while she drained our marriage dry.
I stand there, the cool wind whipping the hem of my dress.
I don't know the specifics of that night.
I only know, with a clarity that settles certain in my chest, that he doesn't love her.
He never did. He feels obligated to her, but a bitter taste rises in my throat.
I feel bad that he didn't care to share this piece of his history with me, choosing to lock me out just when I thought the pieces were finally falling into place.
A sharp, broken sob cuts through the quiet behind the pillar. I turn my head in time to see Sarai crumble onto the terrace stone, her hands pressed flat against her face as Chris walks away without looking back.