Ethan stares at the floor. When he finally looks up, I see the tears he’s trying to hold back.
“The last text I was reading,” he murmurs. “It was sent on September seventh… the weekend Mom took us to the Hamptons. He couldn’t go all summer because of ‘work.’” His jaw tightens. “But that woman sent him a picture of one of his T-shirts, said he’d left it there earlier. That the weekend was wonderful.”
He swallows hard.
“Mom spent months begging him to come. Even just for a day. He never had the time. But he had time to play house with her?”
I don’t know what to say. Every new detail somehow manages to sink lower than the last.
I look at Ethan, almost a man, but at heart a boy, forced to carry a kind of pain no one his age should ever have to shoulder.
“This isn’t about you,” I tell him gently. “Or your mom. Or Alicia. This is about your father’s selfishness. He didn’t know how to value what he had. He thought that because he lived a privileged life, he was above consequences.” I pause. “But it’s too late for that now. He’s going to have to face them.”
“How is it not about us?” Ethan’s voice rises, trembling with anger. “He was barely ever home. But I saw the texts. There was a week in July when he messaged her four times—Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday—saying he was on his way. Other weeks, it was two or three times.”
He taps his temple. “Those days are burned into my head. I keep wondering if those were the nights Mom got a text from him and made that face… the one that looked like pain mixed with missing him.”
Tears spill down his cheeks. He wipes them away angrily.
“Do we mean that little to him?” he asks. “That he traded us for cheap sex? He kept saying he loved Mom… that he loved me and Alicia. How could he do this?”
I pull him into my arms.
“Hey,” I murmur. “It’s going to be okay. You’re strong. Your mom’s a fortress. And Alicia, she’s tougher than she looks. You’ll all be okay.” I tighten my hold. “You’ve got me.”
His body trembles against mine, sobs shaking through his chest. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the ceiling, fighting my own tears.
“I—I don’t want t-to cry,” he says into my shoulder, his voice breaking. “H-he doesn’t d-deserve us.”
“No,” I whisper, my throat tight. “He doesn’t. Don’t cry for him.” I rest my chin against his hair. “Cry for yourself. Let it out… for you.”
“I didn’t notice… He was so talkative at dinner, teasing Alicia, laughing. I just…” Cecily whispers, tears tracing down her face as I finish.
“He went upstairs to shower,” I say. “To pull himself together before you got home. He only came down when the food arrived. He didn’t want you to see him like that.”
She covers her face with her hands, then wipes the tears away.
“I never thought I’d say this,” she murmurs. “But I hate Colin. Not so much for what he did to me…but for what our kids are going to have to live with.”
“I hate him for all those reasons,” I mutter. “And a few more. Should’ve done worse.”
Her head snaps up. “What did you do, Mark?”
Of course she wouldn’t let it slide.
“Nothing big,” I say quickly. “Okay? I just made things a little harder on a couple of acquisitions. They’ll find out soon enough that a major investor he met with in San Jose won’t be putting money into Montgomery Clifford & Co. anymore.”
Her eyes widen, so I add, just as fast, “Don’t worry—it won’t tank the company. The investor’s a friend of a friend. I just suggested he might want to look elsewhere. And that friend trusts me.”
She exhales and lowers her foot from the chair.
“Mark, I know you’re angry, and hurting, just like I am. And it wouldn’t be easy for me to watch you go through something like this either. But hundreds of people depend on that company. I don’t want revenge. I don’t want anyone losing their livelihood just so I can feel better.”
How anyone could ever hurt someone with a heart like hers is beyond me.
“I won’t,” I promise. “It was just a scare. And I’d never mess with the kids’ inheritance.”
I squeeze her hand and manage a small smile.
