"I'm your obligation." She moves past me, and I release a breath as she leaves the knives unscathed. "Don't worry. I won't do anything to embarrass you further."
She's walking away, and I grab her arm.
"Gemma, we need to talk about this."
She pulls free easily. Her arm is so thin, it slips through my grasp. "What would you like me to say? That I forgive you? Fine. I forgive you. That I understand? I understand. That I'll be the perfect, obedient wife? I will." She looks at me. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"I need you to be alive!" The words explode out. "I need you to eat. To sleep. To be something other than this—this ghost!"
"Why?" She's shutting down again. I can see it. It's like that little bit of fire is slowly fading, and I'm searching for the words to keep her with me.
"Because I—" I stop. Can't finish the sentence.
Because I do care. Because I'm sorry.
"I don't want you to fade away."
"You should have considered that."
She leaves me standing in the kitchen.
And I realize she's right.
I broke her.
That night, I lie awake beside her listening to her breath.
It's shallow and quick, and I can't tell if she's asleep or not.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so fucking sorry." I've never apologized for anything in my life, but I'd crawl on my knees if Gemma would just say something. Anything.
"I thought I was protecting us. I thought—" My voice cracks. "I thought you'd be angry. I can handle angry. I'm good at angry. But this?—"
Silence.
"Come back." I turn toward her. "Please. Hate me. Hit me. Do something. Just come back."
She doesn't move.
"Gemma, please?—"
"Go to sleep, Saint." Her voice is flat. Distant. "You have meetings tomorrow. You need your rest."
"I don't care about the meetings."
"You should."
The words twist like a knife.
"I was wrong."
"No, you weren't. You were right. Family comes first. Always." She still hasn't moved. "I should have known that. Should have been a better wife. That's what my mother trained me to be."
"Gemma, no—" I swallow. "I shouldn't have let it get this far."
"Goodnight, Saint."
The dismissal is clear.
