Chương 7
I would say no.
Then silence would fill the space between us.
Eventually, one night, she said something different.
"I don't know how to talk to you."
I sat on the couch.
"Why?"
"Because every time I hear your voice, I remember that I failed you."
I looked down at the blanket across my legs.
My mother had always been the person who believed love could fix things.
When Chloe was younger, she excused every mistake.
She said Chloe was sensitive.
She said Chloe needed more patience.
She said I was stronger.
That was the word everyone used for me.
Strong.
As if strength meant I didn't need anything.
"You didn't do what they did," I said.
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"But I helped create the person who thought she could."
I didn't answer.
Because part of me agreed.
And another part of me hated that I agreed.
Families were complicated that way.
Nobody was only one thing.
My mother had protected Chloe too much.
But she had also stayed awake with me when I had the flu in college.
She had driven four hours when my car broke down.
She had saved every birthday card I ever gave her.
People were not made from one decision.
They were made from thousands.
Good ones.
Bad ones.
Forgotten ones.
A week after the board meeting, I received a letter from Julian's attorney.
It was not a threat.
That surprised me.
It requested a private meeting.
No lawyers.
No board members.
Just the two of us.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered something my father said.
Do not let anger make decisions you will have to live with later.
So I agreed.
We met at a quiet restaurant across town.
Not Lark & Pine.
Neither of us wanted that memory.
Julian arrived first.
He stood when I walked in.
I did not hug him.
He noticed.
I could tell.
We sat across from each other.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "You look tired."
I almost laughed.
"That's what you wanted to talk about?"
"No."
He looked down.
"I just don't know what to say."
That was the first honest thing he had said in days.
The waiter came.
We ordered water.
Neither of us touched it.
"I want you to know something," Julian said.
I waited.
"I never stopped loving you."
I looked at him.
The problem with hearing something like that after betrayal was that it could be true.
That was what made it difficult.
I believed he loved me.
I also believed he hurt me.
Both things could exist.
"I think you loved the life we built," I said.
His expression changed.
"That's not the same thing."
He looked away.
"I don't know if that's fair."
"No."
I folded my hands on the table.
"It's not fair."
He looked back at me.
"Because maybe you did love me."
The words were harder to say than I expected.
"But you loved yourself more."
His face tightened.
"I made mistakes."
"No."
I shook my head.
"Mistakes are forgetting an anniversary."
"Mistakes are saying something careless."
"Mistakes are missing a deadline."
I leaned closer.
"You made decisions."
The silence afterward was heavy.
Julian looked older than he had at the board meeting.
"I was unhappy."
I nodded slowly.
"I believe you."
That surprised him.
"You do?"
"Yes."
I looked out the window.
"I believe you were unhappy."
The street outside was crowded.
People carrying bags.
People rushing to work.
People living ordinary lives.
"But unhappy people still have choices."
He looked down.
"I don't know when I became someone capable of this."
That was the first time I saw something like shame.
Not fear.
Not embarrassment.
Shame.
And somehow that made everything worse.
Because I knew the person sitting across from me was not a monster.
He was a person who had made selfish choices.
A person I had loved.
A person I no longer trusted.
"I need something from you," I said.
He looked up.
"What?"
"Tell the truth."
He nodded.
"Not the version that protects you."
Another pause.
"The real one."
His eyes moved away.
And in that moment, I knew.
There was still something he had not told me.
"What aren't you saying?"
He didn't answer.
I waited.
The restaurant noise continued around us.
Plates moving.
Conversations overlapping.
A child laughing at another table.
Finally, Julian whispered.
"There is something else."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
He looked at me.
"Chloe wasn't the first person."
I stared at him.
The words did not make sense.
"What does that mean?"
His fingers tightened around the water glass.
"It means the affair with Chloe wasn't where this started."
The room seemed to become quieter.
Not because the restaurant changed.
Because my attention narrowed.
"Julian."
He swallowed.
"There was someone before her."
I sat perfectly still.
"Who?"
He looked at the table.
And for the first time since I found him in the parking garage, he looked afraid.
"Who?"
Julian looked down at the table.
For a moment, I thought he would refuse to answer.
That was the thing about Julian.
He had never been someone who lied constantly.
That would have been easier.
People who lie constantly are easier to understand.
Julian lied selectively.
He told the truth when it helped him.
He hid things when he thought the truth would cost him something.
And somehow that made every honest sentence feel dangerous.
"Maya."
I waited.
"Before Chloe."
His voice became quieter.
"There was someone else."
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"How long?"
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Almost a year."
The answer landed without sound.
No dramatic feeling.
No sudden explosion.
Just a slow collapse inside me.
Almost a year.
Before Chloe.
Before my birthday.
Before the parking garage.
Before I ever suspected anything.
"Who was she?"
Julian looked toward the window.
"Someone from work."
I stared at him.
"Your company?"
"No."
That answer came too quickly.
I noticed.
May you like
"Then where?"
He rubbed his forehead.
