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“Absolutely.” I lean forward, a smile tugging the corners of my lips. “You were trapped, surviving. No one should endure what you did—not even for cheating.” I have a feeling she needs to hear those words. I study her face, the way she’s carried her pain like heavy suitcases all these years. And now, her shoulders rise as if the weight has come off.
"Thank you," she whispers, her shoulders relaxing more with the release of decades-long tension. “Lila told me to try therapy.”
I nod. “That sounds like Lila.”
“I told her I would. I want to fix what’s between us, if there’s any chance of that.” She sounds vulnerable, and I don’t hesitate with my answer.
“Of course, there’s a chance. More than a chance.” I lean forward. “Listen to me, Mom. I don't blame you. I blame him. And I promise—” My throat tightens around the vow, “...I'm not going to be like him.”
She reaches across the space between us, her hand finding mine, squeezing gently.
“I never thought you would be,” she says, and there's a flicker of the woman she might have been before the years wore her down.
A surge of warmth bubbles up within me at the thought of a future, a different legacy. “And if I ever have kids...” I trail off, the idea of fatherhood once an impossibility, now sparks something new inside me. “I'd love them unconditionally.”
“Even if their other parent hurt you?” Margret’s eyebrow arches in a silent challenge as she searches my face for any hesitation.
But I’m sure. “Even then.” I picture Lila, her sky-blue eyes and soft laugh, and how she'd cradle a child with tender care and love in her features. The image is so vivid, it jolts through me like electricity.
“Then let's fix this mess with Lila,” Margret says as if reading my mind.
I let out a chuckle. “That’s quite a leap to make,” I say.
“She’s your wife,” mom says, as if reminding me.
“Oh, right.” I exhale a shaky breath, and recount everything.
The secrets I kept, the burden of lies, the pressure I put on her. Margret listens, nods, adds her thoughts. “You'll need to be honest, completely open with her.”
With each word, she continues to listen, occasionally asks questions, and begins to help me form a plan.
“Show her your heart, not just your apologies.” She pats my hand again in a tactile - and comforting - encouragement. “And give her space to make her own choices.”
“Space,” I say, hating the concept but recognizing it’s necessary.
“Love her enough to give her the option to make any decision, even one you might not like.” Margret's voice is steady and unwavering.
The thought hurts, but I know she’s right. “Because I do love her,” I whisper, feeling the truth of the words deep in my bones. “I can't imagine life without her.”
My mom smiles. “Then fight for her, the right way this time.”
I like the sound of that.
Together, we sketch out my next step: winning Lila back, not through force or deceit, but through vulnerability and genuine affection. Because I love Lila. I love her more than I ever thought I could love anyone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lila
I pace the room, terror echoing each beat of my heart with a painful reverberation through my whole being. Each step is a silent debate—should I call Fredrick? No, I shouldn't. I sent him away. But he should know the truth. He deserves to know the truth. But he might hurt me again. How can I trust him?
The endless loop of thoughts leaves me trembling and weak. Or maybe that’s the stress and throwing up I’ve been doing far too much. But the secret inside me is growing heavier each day, literally and figuratively.
My phone - set to silent - vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, scanning my room for comfort and to ground myself before looking at the screen. But I already know who it is. Don’t ask me how I know, but I know.
I need to see you. Can I come pick you up, please?
White-hot fear prickles every inch of my skin, and I feel like I’m being frozen and burned alive for a flash of a second. Then I try to steady my hands, slow my breathing, to talk myself down from the absolute terror bubbling within me.
