I stupidly stare at him for a long moment because, yeah. That’s totally something my mom would’ve considered, and a reason she would’ve stayed.
And maybe she never talked about that aspect with me because she knew I’d tell her fuck the money, divorce his ass, and be happy. She would rather I blame her misguided hope than possibly blame myself for her thinking she needed to stay married to protect me.
I remember that conversation with Liam so clearly. It takes place during our second or third date. I slump back in the booth in the restaurant we are in and tip my head to stare up at the ceiling. The ceiling tiles were painted all black, and the AC vent closest to us bore a fine patina of lighter dust signaling it was overdue for cleaning.
Because everything makes complete sense when I focus on the events of my childhood from that angle.
Perfect sense.
“Regardless of why she stayed,” I finally say as the ramifications rock my soul, “it should be obvious why I’m not a fan of marriage.” I finally look at him again. “Between witnessing what she suffered, and then the asshole who broke my heart, I have a very low tolerance for bullshit. If you like to play relationship games you won’t be in my life for long. I will cut and run without a look back, and no second chances.”
He nods. “Duly noted. For the record, I’ve been burned before and don’t like those kinds of games, either.”
“What kinds of games do you like?”
He smiles and drops his voice. “Ones you need ball gags to enjoy.”
I think that’s when I really knew I was falling in love with him.
