Page 34 of The Tyranny of our Longing

But I did not disappear, and the surprise in his eyes must have mirrored my own as we stared at each other over the abyss of years past. Then he nodded, and left, leaving me staggering with this sudden approval I did not know what to do with.

He saw me. Acknowledged me. And the world did not shatter. - ————- - ——— ———- —- —— —— —- —- encounter, I finally came into being.

——— —- —— —— — began talking to me of small things, asking me about my day, and for my surprise - —— ——— ———- - ———- — ———- ——- ———- - — —— It was everything I have ever wanted.

I do not know to what I owe this magnificent change, but I never want - — —— I never want it to cease. Each day I find myself yearning for more with the craving of someone who has only known starvation. - — — - —- — the only thing keeping me alive. As if the sun had finally shone on a withered plant, its rays granting the life it had not even known it was slowly losing.

—- - —- ——- ——- - -ear this is all too wonderful to last. I see it in the darkness lurking within Mother’s eyes when I glance at her in these happy moments, — — —- - ——- - — —- ———— with my father’s hand in hers. She thinks I do not see it, but I do. And I do not understand it.

I would have imagined her happy for me. Happy with me. But maybe —— — —- —- ———— - — —— —- —- I am merely self-absorbed within my joy, while her own woes still rage ——— —- —— —————— into the darkness of the night, despite Father’s efforts. And I do not know if it simply lies in the stark difference to my own newfound happiness, —- - —- her fits have worsened, her cries more terrible, and sometimes I wish there would be — —- - —- — —— some force that would finally unburden us. Whatever it may be.

CHAPTER 26

Phaedra glanced down at the sketch in her lap, unsurprised by what she found. The unexpected turn of the last few days had displaced the dreadful revelation from her mind, but now it was returned, staring at her in darkening shades of charcoal.

And still, the choice remained unmade, leaving her undecided if she should tell Nathaniel about her suspicion solidified to near certainty, or leave him to come to his own conclusions, whatever they might be. The weight of the decision settled onto her shoulders, the possible branches of its resolution winding around her arms and pulling at her in opposing directions until she felt she would split from the sheer force of their coercion.

She had to say something. Even if it was not yet everything.

“Your father,” she began, but as he lifted his eyes from the haze of his thoughts, Phaedra could not bring herself to finish as she had previously intended. So instead, she asked, “Did he always treat your sister so? As if she did not exist?”

Yet even as she posed the question, she knew it to be true. As if something hidden in the back of her mind half-rose from its imposed slumber, murmuring of people out of center and moved into the margins, settling there almost like decor.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, his fingers brushing over his lips. If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it. “I suppose he could have. He was dismissive of the both of us, and only allowed things he himself deemed important. But I was always so affected by the attention he focused on me, that I do not think I ever truly considered what it was like for her. I could feel that she was not entirely happy here, even if she tried to pretend for my sake. But…” He shook his head. “Being a child raised far from society, I could have seen his disregard for her and thought it simply how all fathers relate to their daughters.”

She nodded, her heart suddenly heavy against her ribs. “But with your mother he was… different, was he not? You’ve mentioned before that he was very attached to her?”

“He was.” He furrowed his brows, pensive. “I remember how he was never too far from her, always hovering, hanging on her words, sometimes to the point of crowding. But I do not know that she minded. She always bore his attentions with that sickly smile of hers.”

Phaedra frowned, surprised by his choice of words. “Sickly?”

“Well not sickly exactly, but…” He grimaced. “There was always a strange quality to it. Almost as if it was feigned or forced or it hurt her in some way. I imagine it could have been a consequence of her illness, though I did not know it at the time. But now…” He shook his head. “Maybe she forced herself through whatever discomfort it caused to show us that there was still joy to be found.”

Phaedra’s chest tightened, the barbed chains of her knowledge wrapping around her mercilessly. For how could she crush this heartening image, this view of a love that outshone even pain? The pity she felt for him, for the innocence of the child still within him, washed over her like a storm, until she felt she could not look at him anymore. Yet even so, she could not stop the words tumbling out of her, the truth yearning to be known.

“I found a book in the library. A collection of poems. From the dedication, I believe it was gifted to your mother by your father.”

“The one with the green cover and ornate spine? With a flower on the front?”

She raised her brows. “Yes. Although the cover seems to have lost its color since you last saw it.”

He quirked a smile. “It has been a long time.”

“And yet you remember it.”

He shrugged, an almost bashful expression flitting across his face. “I suppose it made an impression on me.” To her questioning look he added with a sigh, “My father used to read it to my mother when they were alone. And before you ask how I might know this, I must confess that having been an adventurous child, I often found myself in places I should not have been in. My father was of course furious whenever he would find me stumbling upon them, so I learned to be quiet and hide and listen.” He looked down at his fingers entwined around his ring, a reluctant smile warring with the crease forming between his brows. “I was still very young then, eager for his company, and I remember appreciating the sound of his voice. It felt as if it were made for poetry, with a deep and melodic timbre that moved my mother to tears on more than one occasion.”

He glanced up at her, and his smile slipped, his eyes lowering to her mouth. Only then did Phaedra realize what she had been doing, and released her lip from between her teeth, hoping she had not broken it anew.

She asked her next question, not at all certain if she should. “And have you read any of these poems since?”

His eyes lingered for a moment longer before finding hers, and Phaedra wondered if she had indeed drawn blood.

He cleared his throat, pulling himself upright. “No. But even if I had,” he tilted his head, his lips curling into a careless smile, “they would be lost on me.”

Phaedra stared a moment, baffled that she could forget the sole reason of her being here, and even more how he seemed to take her lapse in stride. She wondered what fortitude it took for him to appear so unbothered, and the notion that she had hurt him, even if unwittingly, and especially for something he had no control over, pained her more than she cared to admit.

“Of course,” she all but whispered. “Forgive me.”