Chương 7
“I don’t know.”
That answer hurt more than a yes.
Because a yes would have given me a clean wound.
“I cared about her.”
He swallowed.
“I cared about how I felt when I was with her.”
I looked at him.
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He nodded.
“I do now.”
I looked down at my hands.
The wedding ring was still there.
I had not taken it off.
Not because I was choosing him.
Because I had not figured out who I was without the life attached to it.
Daniel noticed.
“You’re still wearing it.”
I covered my hand.
“Don’t.”
He nodded immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost told him to stop saying that.
But I did not.
Because maybe apologies were the only thing he knew how to offer right now.
Maybe they were not enough.
But maybe they were the beginning of understanding what he had broken.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from Megan.
This one was different.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just a photograph.
I opened it.
And the air left my lungs.
It was a picture of Daniel standing outside a house.
A house I recognized.
Because it was not his office.
It was not Megan’s apartment.
It was the house we had looked at together six months earlier.
The one Daniel said was too expensive.
The one I thought we would someday buy when things became easier.
Under the photo was a message.
He told me he bought it for us.
I read the message three times before I looked back at the photograph.
The house was unmistakable.
The faded blue mailbox.
The large oak tree near the driveway.
The crooked fence on the left side that Daniel had joked would need to be replaced before we ever moved in.
I remembered standing there with him on a rainy afternoon, holding an umbrella between us while we looked through the windows of a house that belonged to someone else.
Lily had been with us that day.
She had pressed her hands against the glass and said her bedroom should face the backyard because she wanted to watch birds in the morning.
Daniel laughed and told her she could have any room she wanted.
Then he told me quietly that someday we would make it happen.
Someday.
I had carried that word with me for months.
Now it felt like something stolen.
I turned the phone toward Daniel.
He looked at the screen.
The color left his face.
“Where did you get this?”
The question was immediate.
Too immediate.
I noticed it.
“You know this house.”
Daniel did not answer.
“Daniel.”
He sat back.
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You bought it?”
He looked down.
“I was going to tell you.”
The sentence was almost impossible to hear.
Because it was not a denial.
It was another confession.
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
I stared at him.
A few months ago.
While Lily was in and out of appointments.
While I was learning medication names.
While we were sitting in waiting rooms pretending we were not terrified.
“You bought a house.”
My voice sounded distant.
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
He closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
That answer finally made something inside me snap.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“You don’t get to keep saying that.”
Daniel looked up.
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You keep saying you don’t know like that makes it better.”
He looked hurt.
“I’m not trying to make it better.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was the problem.
Daniel had spent so long avoiding choices that now every answer led back to the same place.
He had wanted different versions of his life without accepting that choosing one meant hurting another.
“Was this house for her?”
I asked the question before I could stop myself.
Daniel looked shocked.
“No.”
“Then why did she have a picture of it?”
He looked away.
“She knew about it.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“She knew?”
“She was there once.”
The cafeteria noise seemed to disappear.
“Once?”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“She helped me look at places.”
I laughed quietly.
It was not a happy sound.
“You took another woman to look at our future home.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You know how it feels.”
He looked down.
And for once, he did not try to explain.
That almost made it worse.
Because there was nothing left to argue against.
I picked up my coffee.
It was cold.
I had not touched it.
I set it back down.
“What else?”
Daniel looked confused.
“What?”
“What else don’t I know?”
His face changed.
A tiny movement.
A hesitation.
Enough.
“There’s more.”
It was not a question.
His silence answered.
I stood up.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere Lily cannot hear.”
We went back upstairs.
Daniel stayed near the doorway of Lily’s room while I checked on her.
She was still sleeping.
Her face looked peaceful in a way that almost made me angry at the world.
Children should be allowed to sleep without knowing adults were breaking promises around them.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Talk.”
Daniel leaned against the wall.
“I was going to leave.”
The words were quiet.
But they hit harder than shouting.
“When?”
“Before I found out about the pregnancy.”
I stared at him.
“You were planning to leave your sick daughter?”
His face immediately changed.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I wasn’t leaving Lily.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Daniel looked like he wanted to argue.
Then he stopped.
Because he knew.
“I thought we could work something out.”
“You thought?”
He swallowed.
“I thought maybe after treatment was over.”
I looked at him.
“After treatment was over.”
“Yes.”
“So you planned to wait until the hardest part was finished.”
May you like
“No.”
“You planned to wait until you could leave without looking like you abandoned us.”
