“Good,” the professor murmured.
“I always said we were trying. But as time went on, they’d tell me I better hurry. I better hurry because I’ll be all dried up soon. Forty wasold.” I paused and licked my lips. “The whispers started behind my back, then grew louderand louder. If we missed out on kids, it would be my fault, because I’d focused too hard on my career. I couldn’t give Vincent what he, as a man, deserved.” I buried my face in my hands. “I loved him so much, and I wanted to give him children. I wanted to have a family. But every month…” I shook my head sadly. “Nothing. He said it was okay, relax, it will happen. But then, the hot flashes started.”
I took a breath. It was too shallow. I tried again. “They’d spring up out of nowhere, an insane, burning heat in the pit of my belly, and with it came…” I shook my head, trying to put it into words. “A buildup of energy. It was so intense, it felt like boiling lava, but it was stuck, and it felt overwhelming, like if I didn’t get it out, I was going to explode. I couldn’t get it out, though. I saw a doctor, who of course told me it was early-onset menopause, even though my bloodwork didn’t agree with that diagnosis. That’s what it was,” I said, shrugging listlessly. “Hot flashes. Menopause. I’d missed my window. I couldn’t have kids.”
I took another moment before I could go on. “Little things started to happen when the heat struck me. I broke a priceless vase, but I didn’t remember even touching it. I was riding in a taxi with the most obnoxious driver one day, and the windows suddenly blew out. The driver accused me of smashing them. He sued, and I was so scared that I was going crazy, I settled straight away. Vincent sent me back to the doctor, who told me that sometimes menopausal women went through rage episodes. He gave me drugs. I took them, but I didn’t feel like myself anymore.
“One day, when Vincent had a residency at Allwins Gallery, I went down to surprise him for lunch. On my way in, through the window I saw a girl—one of the curators—she leaned in and nuzzled him like a cat. The heat boiled in me, and the ceramic sculpture next to him just… exploded. The girl screamed and ran away. Vincent looked at me and asked me why I’d destroyed the beautiful sculpture. But I didn’t. I didn't touch it. He said he saw me throw a rock at it. I didn’t remember. I was so angry at that moment, I felt like I’d blacked out. But Vincent said I threw a rock, and Vincent never lied to me. So, that was it. I was going crazy.” I shrugged listlessly. “My menopause was making me crazy. It became a fact of life. I was going through menopause, and it was making me crazy.
“Another year limped on, and more things happened. I heard noises—doors opening and closing when nobody else should be home. Muffled screams came from his studio, but when I’d check on him, he’d tell me I was hearing things. My clothes and makeup would go missing. Seraphina would show up wearing my jewelry and swear blindly that it had always been hers, and Vincent would back her up. Both of them would stare at me, looking almost scared. Then later, Vincent would cry and tell me he loved me so much, and he just wanted me to get better.” Nausea lurched up in my gut; I swallowed it down. “He always wanted me to go away to a retreat or something, to go on a cruise to help settle my hormones. As long as I kept my job, though.”
My hands started shaking. “Finally, one day, I was so on-edge at work, I faked a migraine and went home early. I found Seraphina and Vincent naked in my bed. She was on top of him, screaming. I realized I’d heard that screamsomany times before.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears poured down my cheeks. “After that, I don’t know what happened. The force of emotion was so strong, I blacked out. But I still heard the screams.”
I wiped my face with my hands; they came away wet. “The next moment, I’m in handcuffs, tossed into a little cell, because apparently I went crazy and tried to kill my husband. He told the police that he was all alone, in thebedroom, and I snapped in perimenopause-induced rage and went on a rampage, smashing the bricks of my beautiful old house with a sledgehammer, throwing them at him, tearing down our paintings, destroying sculptures and priceless art. Vincent went to the hospital. He had a concussion from a brick that had hit his head, and he needed stitches.” I took a shaky breath. “And Seraphina was never there. Two of his other interns gave statements to say that she was with them, downtown, having lunch, when I attacked. I had hallucinated.Again.”
The professor nodded. “They were having an affair.”
I nodded. My heart broke all over again. It was so obvious now that I was forced to say it all out loud. “Yes. He’d been lying to me. He’d been using me from the beginning. Vincent’s parents hadn’t wanted him to be an artist, so he found me, and I financed his whole dream. I introduced him to the rich assholes I had to deal with as a stockbroker, and they bought his work. He got on the art scene. Everyone loved him.”
It was a while before I could go on. “So yes, Vincent cheated on me. He and Seraphina had been sleeping together for years, using my menopause as an excuse to fuck with my head. People throw the word ‘gaslighting’ around so much, but when it happens to you, you don’t know it’s happening. Which I guess is the whole point.” I chuckled bitterly. “I spent years having Vincent tell me that I was going crazy. Doctors confirmed it. My body told me I was going crazy. I accepted it. I was crazy old Susan. I saw things that weren’t there. I had hallucinations. I got violent. I was dangerous.” I fell silent. The last part was true. I was dangerous.
After a moment, the Professor moved closer. “Then what happened? After your magic exploded?”
“Vincent’s parents stepped in. They were horrified that I’d triedto kill their only son. They pushed for me to be put away for good. At the trial, I was drugged up so badly that the judge declared me not guilty by reason of insanity. Vincent filed for divorce, and I was so incapacitated that I couldn’t fight for anything. He got the house, all the money. And alimony, too. Because he’d never earned much money, he was entitled to half of everything I would make from then on. Not that anyone expected me to make any money,” I added bitterly. “I was told that I probably wouldn't ever get out of the psychiatric hospital. I was on a cocktail of antipsychotics and mood stabilizers, and in the moments I felt even vaguely lucid, I was horrified that I’d tried to kill Vincent, the love of my life. It was hell,” I whispered. “It felt like I’d gone to hell.”
“But you got out.”
The ghost of a smile touched my lips. “A regular patient at the hospital was an anorexic; she taught me how to hide my meds in my cheek. I did it on a whim, but after a few days, I felt a little better. My head was clearer, so I kept doing it. Then, my regular treating doctor went on vacation, and the doctor who filled in for him—also on a whim, apparently—decided to run more bloodwork and do more tests. He found I was much better and recommended me for conditional release. So, I got out. I stayed at a halfway house for three months.” I swallowed another lump in my throat. “That was more hell. More screaming, more fights. I swore I’d claw my way out, so I kept climbing.”
Professor Owen reached out and handed me the scribe stone. It vibrated underneath my fingertips “Now you know the truth.”
I nodded sadly. “I know I’m not crazy. I never was. Even without all the power I felt coursing through me. I know what I saw. Vincent and Seraphina had been having an affair. They told everyone they got together after I went tojail, of course. She was comforting him, one thing led to another…” I shrugged. “And now she’s pregnant with his child. Living in my house. Sleeping in my bed. Vincent kept all my things, but he traded me in for a younger, prettier version who could give him what he wanted.” I took a deep breath. Good God, the truthhurt. It was less painful to just think that I’d gone crazy.
I had to say it out loud. “The truth is that Vincent never loved me. He is like a child who manipulates the people who love him to get exactly what he wants. And that’s it. I loved him, and he used me.”
Suddenly, the stone buzzed beneath my fingertips. A pulse of energy punched through me.
My feet went numb. I felt like I was floating. “This is how my great love story ends,” I whispered. “With me finally realizing the truth. It was never a love story to start with.”
Donovan squeezed my shoulder gently. “Close the stone, Chosen.”
I held it and concentrated.Protect yourself. Sleep.
It was easier than the last time. I felt the atoms in the stone move, solidifying, burying its magic and power deep inside. The giant sapphire darkened; the lights dimmed.
I held it out again. “It’s done.” My voice was toneless. I felt empty. Hollow.
The professor took the stone without looking at it. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “The pain will fade, Susan.”
I nodded, swallowing back a sob.
There was a yak sound in the corner, and Bonbon puked tiramisu all over the carpet.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Ifelt empty as we walked down the driveway of the Professor's house. Wrung out, like a wet towel before it was hung up to dry. Donovan walked beside me, close, but not touching. He seemed to sense how delicate I felt, as if I would bruise if someone even bumped me.
