"Mom?" Lily looked up at her. "Are you okay?"
Olivia reached for her daughter's hand and held it. Her own hands weren't shaking, which surprised her.
"I'm glad you told me," she said. "I know that was hard."
"Are you going to leave him?"
"I need to think," Olivia said. "I need?—"
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't know how to finish it.
Lily was crying now, and Olivia pulled her close the way she used to when Lily was small and scared of the dark. Held her until she was still.
"You should sleep," Olivia said eventually. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
"What are you going to do?"
She kissed the top of Lily's head. "Whatever happens, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?"
"But if I hadn't said anything?—"
"Lily. Look at me." Olivia waited until her daughter's eyes met hers. "I already knew something was wrong. I found some texts back in February. Dad and I have been... working through things. So this isn't you telling me something I didn't know. It's you telling me something I needed to hear. Okay?"
Lily stared at her. "You already knew?"
"Not what you saw. But I knew there was a problem." She squeezed Lily's hand. "You didn't break anything. I promise."
Lily nodded, though she still seemed shaky.
Olivia stood. Walked to the door.
"Mom?"
She turned.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"I'm sorry you had to carry it at all," Olivia said.
She closed the door behind her and stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of the sleeping house. Somewhere down the hall, someone's phone buzzed against a nightstand. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Outside, the waves kept coming.
Dan had lied. He'd looked at her across a marriage counselor's office and sworn that nothing physical had happened. And the whole time, he'd been lying.
She walked to her own room and sat on the bed without turning on the light.
Her phone was on the nightstand. Three texts from Dan, sent hours ago, still unanswered.
Miss you. Hope you had fun tonight.
The house feels empty without you.
Call me when you can. Just want to hear your voice.
She stared at the words until they blurred. Then she turned the phone over and lay back.
She thought about Michael. How he looked at her. How he listened. How she'd felt on that trail at Cape May, guilty but also alive.
She'd been torturing herself over a few hikes and some texts that never crossed any lines. Meanwhile, Dan had been crossing every line there was and making her feel like the one with something to apologize for.
