My voice cracks just slightly, but I don’t look away.
“Staying with him would mean condoning his actions. It would mean showing our children that what he did was just a mistake. Something small. Something easily forgiven and forgotten. Instead of the thing that tore our lives apart.”
I stop there, my throat tight. The exhaustion finally catches up.
Barbara is the first to speak again. Her tone is softer now, though firmly wrapped in the conviction she wears like armor.
“The thing about time,” she says slowly, her eyes fixed on the dark surface of her coffee, “is that it has a way of dulling things. What feels unbearable now eventually loses its weight. Its sharpness.”
She lifts her gaze to mine.
“Colinlovesyou, Cecily. That doesn’t just disappear.”
I take a moment before answering, choosing my words carefully. I think about mentioning the one truth she doesn’t know yet. The kind of truth that would shift everything in this room. But it isn’t mine to tell. That’s for Colin to decide, whether or not he tells his parents. And if I know him at all, he won’t say a word until he’s certain the baby is his.
“I understand that your marriage to Richard isn’t…” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “Conventional.”
Her brows lift, just slightly, but I continue before she can respond.
“But I respect it. It’s your life. Your choice. And I’m not asking you to accept mine, Barbara. I’m only asking you torespectit.”
She studies me for a long moment. Her expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between pride and discomfort, as if she’s seeing a version of me she never quite expected.
Then, slowly, she gives a small nod. No words. Just that.
It is an unspoken agreement. It isn’t approval, but acknowledgment.
I let out a breath.
“The divorce doesn’t change anything about your relationship with the kids,” I add. “You’re their grandmother. That isn’t up for debate. Whenever you or Richard want to see them, just reach out. You’ll always be welcome.”
Her expression softens for a fleeting moment. Then it’s gone.
“Well,” she says, clearing her throat. “I hope they’ll continue attending our family events.”
Of course. Because maintaining appearances must always come first.
The thought crosses my mind, but I keep it to myself.
She finishes the rest of her coffee in silence, sets the cup neatly back on the tray, and stands. There’s a brief hesitation, the faint press of her lips as if she wants to say something else, but doesn’t.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Cecily,” she says finally. “Take care.”
“You too.”
And then she’s gone.
The sound of the front door closing reverberates through the house. For a long while, I just stand there, thinking about everything and nothing all at once.
Eventually, I retreat to the sunroom, sink into the chair, and lose myself in work, letting the rest of the world blur into the background for a few hours.
I’m in the kitchen, clearing away the dishes from the snack Alicia and I just finished. Crumbs litter the counter, and the room smells of strawberries and toast. The doorbell rings just as I’m rinsing the plates.
Before I can even reach for the towel, Alicia’s voice drifts in from the living room.
“I’ll get it!”
I smile to myself as I dry my hands, listening to her quick footsteps. A few seconds later, she calls out again, her tone curious and a little unsure.
