“He didn’t ask permission to exist,” she said quietly. “He didn’t adjust himself to make others comfortable. He had his own code. His own world. And he did not bend it.”
The image formed unbidden in my mind. Broad shoulders. Unapologetic presence. A man who did not ask.
Cassian remained still beside me.
“She was going to leave with him,” Aunt Mabel said.
My breath caught.
“She packed a bag. Told no one but me. She had it in her head that she could step out of the life she’d built and into something … less contained.”
Less contained.
That was one way to describe it.
“She didn’t,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Aunt Mabel agreed. “She didn’t.”
“Why?”
The answer did not come immediately.
“She realized that what she wanted didn’t align with the version of herself she had worked so hard to become,” Aunt Mabel said finally. “And instead of letting the version change, she let the man go.”
The simplicity of it was devastating.
Not scandal.
Not betrayal.
Fear.
Not of him.
Of herself.
“She chose stability,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And she married my father.”
“Yes.”
“And she’s been … happy.”
Aunt Mabel’s gaze softened.
“She’s been consistent,” she said. “And she’s been respected. And she’s been admired for her discipline.”
Not the same thing.
I stared into my tea, watching the surface ripple slightly with the tremor in my hand.
“She called me,” Aunt Mabel continued, “because she recognizes something.”
