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“So he never laid a hand on her,” Ophelia said.
I was spinning through cold space. Watching as my entire world broke into pieces around me. I could almost hear the sound of it shattering in a slow implosion.
“You both blackmailed Edwin for years behind my back,” I said.
“We did,” Daphne admitted.
“What…where’s the tape?”
“I destroyed it when Edwin died,” Ophelia said. “Burnt it in the fireplace after his funeral. I never wanted Clara hearing that.”
“But…she deserves to know the truth,” I said.
“And when she comes looking for answers, we’ll tell her the truth,” Daphne said. “But the truth is ugly, Merrick.”
“Is Efa still alive?”
Daphne shrugged. “We don’t have any reason to think she’s not.”
There was a third long, painful silence. I stood again, this time slowly, and began pacing around the table. My whole body felt numb, but through it was breaking a horrible realization.
“I let this happen,” I said, halting. “I should have known what he was doing at home. I should have paid more attention. I’m responsible for this.”
“No, darling—” Ophelia began.
“No, don’t,” I said. “I know this is my fault. I failed Efa as her Brenin, I let her be hurt by my closest friend. And I let Clara grow up with a monster for a father. And I’ve been defending him to her all this time.”
Ophelia wiped her eyes and Daphne stood, going to put an arm around her waist.
“You didn’t know,” Ophelia said.
“I’m a hypocrite,” I said slowly.
“Merrick, you’re not—that doesn’t even make sense.”
“Yes, it does. I’ve been talking such a big fucking game about women’s rights in the organization, about protecting them. And I was sharing my life for fifteen years with a fucking abuser. Maybe a rapist, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything.”
“We don’t know he went that far,” Daphne interrupted.
I whirled. “I need to go.”
I took a step towards the door, but Daphne stepped in front of me.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” I said, anger making me reckless. “I’m going to beg forgiveness on my knees before Clara.”
“Merrick, stop,” Ophelia cried out.
We both turned, shocked. Ophelia was crying, tears etching down her lightly lined face.
“You can’t do that,” she said. “This is Clara’s pain too and you’re making it about what you feel.”
Shame washed over me and I nodded, stumbling back to the table and sinking down.
“Jesus, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Ophelia sat down beside me and her familiar hands curled in mine, holding me for a moment of silence. Then she sniffed and gave me a broken look.
