She nods slowly, eyes closing as if the darkness makes it easier to speak.
“He met her after a lecture he gave. Some of his friends knew her. They went out for drinks and dancing. He drank too much that night… and it happened. And then it happened again. A few times.”
For almost a year, he practically lived with us,
The words replay inside me. The same cold, broken line Maya delivered in this very room.
“And you believed him?” I ask, unable to hide the disbelief in my voice.
“Cecily,” she says, her voice calm in a way that feels too controlled, “I know what happened with Colin will change how you see all of this, maybe forever. But your father loves me. Inever doubted that. I believe him. He said he would end it, and he did. It was a meaningless affair. He wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last man in that stage of life to make a mistake like that.”
I think carefully before speaking.
“Mom… I know it’s been a long time, but maybe Mark could look into it. There might be things you don’t know, things Dad didn’t—”
“No.”
Her voice cuts through mine. There’s no hesitation in it.
“I already know what I need to know. Your father told me himself. I trusthimandour love.”
“And how can you trust him so blindly? For months, he looked you in the eye and lied about what he was doing. Where he was going. Who he was with. He was leaving notes for another woman—meeting her again and again.”
Her gaze turns cold.
“Everything you said... it’s only part of what happened. Your father wasn’t himself; he said it was like being in a fog. But in the end, he chose me. He knows where his heart belongs.”
I’ve read about it. They call it‘affair fog.’It’s almost ironic how there always seems to be a term to dress up even the ugliest human choices.
Knowing that pushing any further won’t change a thing, I hesitate. “I’m sorry for asking this, but… did you at least get a full panel done back then?”
“Cecily!” she gasps, outrage cutting through her voice. “Your father isn’t careless or ignorant. He wouldn’t take that kind of risk without the necessary precautions.”
I close my eyes, trying not to think about how that blind faith, that kind of ‘love’, could have put her health at risk without her ever knowing.
When I speak again, my tone is gentler.
“Why did you stay, Mom? Did you ever think about leaving him?”
Mom stands and moves to sit beside me. She takes my hands in hers and looks straight into my eyes.
“Because I love him. Because he loves me. Because we have a beautiful story. And because we have you.”
The smile on her face is almost dreamy, as if in that moment she’s clinging to the beautiful memories that blur the ugliness of everything my father did.
“What happened only made us stronger. Your father stopped traveling for more than a year; he turned down every conference just to be home with me, to give me peace of mind. We started doing things together again. Dinners out, thoughtful gifts, dancing in the living room for no reason at all. We found our way back to each other… like we did when we first fell in love.”
I study her face and see it—genuine happiness, or maybe the version she’s chosen to keep.
But I don’t say a word, knowing she isn’t finished yet.
“That’s why I keep telling you to think long and hard about the divorce,” she says, more gently. “I know it hurts, but I also know you can come out stronger if you choose love over anger.”
She smiles again and reaches up to stroke my cheek.
“You and Colin can still be happy, sweetheart. Don’t let that woman ruin the beautiful life and family you’ve built. Don’t do that to yourself.”
I nod, squeeze her hands, and rise to my feet.
