“About which part?”
“Any of it.
All of it.”
“I’ve thought about very little else.” I turned my mug in my hands.
“I’m not leaving him, if that’s what you’re asking.
Not over this.
What he did — keeping it from me — was wrong.
But what happened before we married wasn’t a betrayal.
It was a secret that wasn’t his to keep by the time he found out.”
“Some people would disagree with that.”
“Some people can.”
Lynn was quiet.
Then: “What’s he like?
Ethan?”
“Careful.
Thoughtful.
He brought shortbread.”
She laughed.
It surprised her.
“Shortbread.”
“Homemade.”
“Good Lord.” She shook her head.
“And you want to — what?
Have him in our lives?”
“I want to let it develop honestly.
I’m not going to pretend he doesn’t exist.
And I’m not going to make Dean choose between his son and his marriage.
That’s not a choice I’m willing to force.”
“What about Noah?”
I hadn’t expected that question.
It stopped me.
“Eventually,” I said.
“When things are steadier.
Noah doesn’t need to understand all of it right away.
He just needs to know there’s a new person who matters.”
Lynn nodded slowly.
“Can I meet him?
Ethan?”
“I think he’d like that.”
She picked up her coffee.
It was cold by now.
She drank it anyway.
“You’re handling this better than I would.”
“I’m not handling it well,” I said.
“I’m handling it one hour at a time.
There’s a difference.”
She reached across and squeezed my hand.
Just briefly.
“I want to talk to Dad,” she said.
“He’s in the study.”
She stood up.
Straightened her coat even though she was inside.
Took a breath.
“Lynn.” She stopped.
“Be hard on him.
But don’t be cruel.
He’s already being cruel enough to himself.”
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she nodded and went down the hallway.
I heard the study door open.
I heard Dean say her name.
I heard the door close.
I sat at the kitchen table and finished my coffee.
Through the wall, I couldn’t make out words.
Just voices.
Lynn’s, sharp and steady.
Dean’s, lower, slower.
After a while, Lynn’s voice softened.
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I let it go.
Then my phone rang.
A number I didn’t recognize.
I almost didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice.
Quiet.
A little breathless.
My hand tightened on the phone.
“Sandra.” I kept my voice steady.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better today.
Ethan doesn’t know I’m calling.
I hope that’s all right.”
“It’s all right.”
A pause.
I could hear her breathing.
Careful, measured.
The kind of breathing that takes effort.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said.
“For how you’ve treated him.
Ethan.
He came home on Saturday and he was — he seemed lighter.
He hasn’t seemed light in a long time.”
“He’s easy to be kind to,” I said.
And I meant it.
“He is.” Her voice warmed.
“He gets that from himself, I think.
I can’t take much credit.”
“I think you can take more than you’re claiming.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“I’ve thought about you for a long time, Carol.
Not with guilt, exactly.
More with — curiosity.
I wondered what kind of woman Dean had built a life with.
Whether he was happy.
Whether you were.”
“We were,” I said.
“We are.
It’s complicated right now.
But we were.”
“I’m glad.” She paused.
“I want you to know — I never wanted to disrupt your life.
Writing that letter was the hardest thing I’ve done.
I almost didn’t send it.”
“Why did you?”
“Because Ethan was going to find Dean with or without my help.
And I thought if he arrived without any context, without any preparation — it could go very badly.
I thought if you had the letter first, you’d have something to hold onto.
Some sense of who I am.
Or who I was trying to be.”
I looked out the window at the garden.
A bird was moving through the bare hedge.
“It helped,” I said.
“The letter helped.”
She exhaled.
“Good.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“When you decided not to tell Dean — when you made that choice — were you protecting him?
Or yourself?”
A long silence.
“Both,” she said.
“I think I was protecting both of us.
And I told myself it was noble.
It took me a long time to admit that part of it was just — easier.
Starting over was easier than the conversation.”
“Thank you for being honest about that.”
“You deserve honesty.
You’ve deserved it for a long time.”
I heard Lynn’s voice rise briefly through the wall, then settle.
“Dean wants to see you,” I said.
“He told Ethan.
He wants to apologize.”
“He doesn’t owe me an apology.”
“He feels he does.
I think you should let him give it.”
Another pause.
“All right.”
“And I’d like to come with him.
If that’s acceptable.”
The silence this time was different.
Surprised.
“You want to come,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I thought about the letter.
About the careful handwriting.
About a woman who had spent twenty-five years making a decision she couldn’t fully defend and had still chosen, at the end, to tell the truth.
“Because you wrote to me,” I said.
“Not to Dean.
To me.
And I think that deserves a response in person.”
She didn’t speak for a moment.
