His composure cracked, and he leaned forward to tuck himself into my chest, arms sliding around my waist. I wrapped him in my embrace immediately.
“When this is over, will you take me to New York?” he asked.
“I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
20
Elior
“Do you think he ever loved me?” My gaze wandered to the window overlooking the busy street below, snagging on a young mom pushing a baby stroller.
“It’s hard to say, Elior,” Mark answered. “I’m not sure if you could ever get the true answer out of him either. I think… if he even has the ability to love, that love would mostly be for himself. That’s how narcissists are.”
I nodded slowly, pushing my nails into the putty I’d been playing with. “He told me he loved me,” I murmured. “Not often, but I was so happy when he did.”
Mark didn’t interrupt. He rarely did when I was circling something important.
“I don’t think he was lying when he said it,” I continued, feeling the coolness seep through my fingers. “But I don’t think he was really saying it to me.” I shook my head. “I think he was saying he loved the Vessel.”
Silence stretched for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Why is that question important to you right now?” Markasked gently.
Because I’m about to testify again.
Because he might go away forever.
“I think I just wanted to know if there was ever a version of my childhood that was real,” I said quietly. “If there was ever a moment where he just saw me as his child, not this tool to control people.”
Mark leaned back slightly in his chair. “Even if the answer is no… what would that change for you?”
I blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
I let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in my lungs for years. “If he didn’t love me,” I said slowly, “then I can be a victim.”
Mark’s expression softened. “Elior, you know it doesn’t work like that.”
My eyes burned unexpectedly. I looked down, embarrassed by how quickly the emotion surged.
“I know,” I whispered.
“It will take a lot of work for you to be able to apply that concept to yourself, but I know you can. It takes time.”
“I don’t hate him,” I added, focusing on the way the putty squished in my hand. “I don’t even know if I’m capable of hating him. I just… don’t want him to have any more space in my head.”
Mark nodded. “That sounds like grief. Not for the man he is, but for the father you didn’t get.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the tremble.
“I keep thinking about seeing him again,” I admitted. “About sitting in that room and answering questions like I’m describing a stranger. And part of me feels… detached. Like I already left.”
“That’s not detachment,” Mark said gently. “That’s differentiation. You’re separating who you are from who he told you that you were.”
Who he tried to make me.
“I used to think if I just did everything he said, be perfect, then maybe he’d love me more. Maybe if I was still enough, quiet enough, holy enough… then maybe I could earn his affection.”
