I hung up before he could answer.
My husband broke then.
***
I called Chloe next. I told her everything, gently and completely, letting her cry when she needed to.
“Mom,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just stand with me.”
“Always.”
***
I found Peter on the upper deck, his hands in his pockets, watching the water.
I told her everything.
“I don’t know what any of this becomes,” I told him. “Maybe nothing. Maybe someday we’ll be friends. I can’t promise more than that.”
He nodded, quiet as the sea.
“But thank you,” I said. “For not staying silent this time.”
“I owed you the truth I didn’t dare to give at 17.”
“I can’t promise more than that.”
***
Six months later, I opened the small interior design consultancy I’d shelved 20 years earlier for Marcus’s career. The divorce was settled fairly. Chloe helped me paint the office walls a soft, honest blue.
