Page 54 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

"But somewhere along the way," she said, searching for the right words, "I started mourning him while he was still alive."

The room fell silent again. Grief isn't only for funerals. Sometimes it settles into a marriage long before anyone is ready to admit it's over.

"They all keep looking at me like..." She stopped herself.

"Like what?"

She hesitated.

"Like I survived something."

She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Maybe I did."

She looked at me again.

"I feel horrible for saying that."

"You shouldn't."

"I should be devastated."

"You are."

"I don't know if I am."

"You can be devastated," I said, gently placing my hand over hers. "And relieved that the hurting is over." Tears streamed down her face.

"I think that's what scares me."

"What does?"

"That a part of me feels guilty for finally being able to breathe."

We sat in silence. There was nothing perfect to say. No words could untangle years of fear, manipulation, hope, disappointment, and love.

After a moment, Danielle whispered, almost like she was talking to herself.

"Camille told me..."

She stopped speaking, and I waited.

"Camille told you what?"

Danielle blinked, as if she had forgotten I was there.

"Nothing."

"You don't have to protect anyone."

"I'm not."

She answered quickly and turned to look out the window.

"She just told me everything was going to be okay."

I watched her face for a moment. I sensed she was holding something back, but today didn’t feel like the right time to ask. I gave her hand one last squeeze before I stood up.