“He said something… strange.”
As a lawyer, she always enjoyed watching the clients’ or witnesses’ faces when she asked them a surprise question.There were telltale signs that were easily recognized if you knew what to look for.
Her mother stirred the chicken as if this were just any other evening, just any other conversation.But Nicole knew better.She’d been a lawyer long enough to recognize a witness dodging a trap.To see the tension in her mother’s shoulders.
“He said,” Nicole continued, “he called me.A lot.After we… after he left.”
Her mother didn’t respond.Didn’t even look up.
Nicole pressed on.“He said he left voicemails.That he never emailed me to end things.ThatIemailedhim.”
Only her mother had access to her email account when she was in school.Only she could have sent that tragic note.
Her mother opened a drawer, pulled out a dish towel, and began wiping down a spotless counter.
Nicole took another step, turning toward her mother.“Did you send that email?”
Her mother’s hand stilled.“What email?I’m a house cleaner.What do I know about emails?My kids were the computer gurus, not your father and me.I know nothing of this email.”
It was true, but she’d also witnessed her mother checking her brothers' and sisters' emails to make sure they were not being trolled.The woman knew more about computers than she was saying.
Nicole wrapped her arms so tightly across her chest, it felt like she was holding herself together.“You know which email.The one that broke me.”The one that gutted her so completely, she could barely get out of bed, drowning in a darkness she wasn’t sure she’d ever escape.And the worst part?He’d walked away as if her devastation had been nothing more than collateral damage.
Or at least, she had believed that until today.And even now, she wasn’t quite certain what to think.
“I don’t.”Her mother’s voice was soft, slippery.“I don’t remember any emails.That was a long time ago.”
Nicole’s throat tightened.“I remember it.”
Thirteen words.Cold.Final.Not a trace of the boy she’d married.
I’ve changed my mind.This was a mistake.Please don’t contact me again.
Her mother still didn’t look at her.“Emails get lost.Phones get misplaced.Sometimes people say and do things they regret.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Her mother turned then, finally, slowly, her eyes calm but calculating.“Why would I send an email from your account?”
Nicole stared at her.“You tell me.”
A beat passed.
“You’re my daughter, but I don’t get into your email account.That’s your business,” she said.
That was true now, but had it been back then?Why did this feel wrong?Like she wasn’t telling her everything.
Then her mother offered a small, tight smile.“Dinner’s ready.Go tell your father.”
She was being dismissed.And that made her even more suspicious, twisting the betrayal even tighter in her gut.If they had not sent the emails, who had?
Nicole stood there a moment longer, every muscle in her body humming with something between anger and dread.
Her mother turned back to the stove as if the conversation had never happened.
Nicole walked into the den.Her father hadn’t moved.
She leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms.“Did you know he was back?”
