Chương 3
The deposit listed beside her name was almost exactly equal to two years of Thomas’s payments.
Claire felt the ache in her cheek again.
Upstairs, Léa coughed in her sleep and the baby monitor crackled softly on the counter.
Thomas stared at the darkened Christmas tree in their living room.
“My mother wasn’t surviving on my money.”
His voice was barely audible.
“She was building my sister a life with it.”
Thomas’s mother had taken his loyalty, converted it into money, and quietly redirected it toward the child she had always insisted needed more help.
Claire sat across from him and watched that fact settle into his face.
It did not arrive as rage.
It arrived as embarrassment.
Thomas rubbed his thumb across the edge of the table and stared at nothing.
“She asked me for the first payment the week after Grandpa’s funeral.”
Claire said nothing.
“She cried in the parking lot outside the cemetery.”
His mouth tightened.
“She said Dad was too proud to ask.”
Claire leaned back in her chair.
“And your father says he thought you stopped four years ago.”
Thomas nodded.
“Which means she either lied to him too or kept him from seeing where it was coming from.”
The phone rang again.
This time Thomas did not answer.
Marie’s name disappeared from the screen, then returned almost immediately.
Claire watched it vibrate against the table.
“You should probably turn that off.”
“I want to see what she says.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It probably is.”
The ringing stopped.
A message appeared.
Call me right now.
Another followed.
Your father has no right to interfere in this.
Thomas looked at Claire.
“So she knows he called.”
“Apparently.”
A third message appeared.
After everything I have sacrificed for this family, you owe me the courtesy of a conversation.
Claire let out a short breath.
Thomas’s eyes remained fixed on the screen.
“What?”
Claire looked toward the stairs before answering.
“She slapped me three times, called me trash, called our daughter trash, and somehow she is already the injured party.”
Thomas gave a humorless laugh.
“She’s efficient.”
Claire reached for the ice pack again.
It had gone soft and warm.
She stood, carried it to the freezer, and replaced it with a bag of frozen peas.
Thomas watched her wrap the peas in the same dish towel.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Use frozen peas instead of the actual ice packs.”
“The peas work better.”
“We own three ice packs.”
“They’re too stiff.”
“This is the first time I’ve understood how strongly you feel about frozen vegetables.”
Claire almost smiled.
Then Thomas’s phone buzzed again.
The tiny domestic joke evaporated.
Marie had sent a photograph.
It showed the Christmas table exactly as they had left it.
Claire’s wineglass still sat beside her half-eaten dessert.
Thomas’s overturned chair had been placed upright again.
Under the photograph, Marie had written, You ruined Christmas for everyone.
Thomas stared at the message for several seconds.
Then he blocked her number.
Claire watched him do it.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He set the phone down.
“But I did it.”
They sat quietly.
Outside, a car door slammed somewhere down the street.
Claire could hear the old boiler clicking in the utility closet.
It occurred to her that Thomas had probably spent years telling himself that one transfer was easier than one confrontation.
Twenty-five hundred euros a month had been the price of not examining his family too closely.
“What do you want to do about the money?” she asked.
Thomas looked at her.
“Stop it.”
“That part is obvious.”
“No, I mean everything.”
He pushed the phone away.
“I want to stop all of it.”
Claire studied him.
“Do you want the money back?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is a lot of money.”
“I know.”
“More than a lot.”
“I know.”
She hated the careful tone he was using.
It sounded like the voice he used with difficult clients or airline employees after canceled flights.
“Thomas, don’t become reasonable just because you’re furious.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I’m trying not to do something stupid.”
“I know.”
“That sounded like criticism.”
“It was.”
He looked away.
Claire softened.
“You don’t have to decide tonight.”
“I’ve already decided one thing.”
“What?”
“If my mother wants to talk to me again, she apologizes to you first.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Not by text.”
“No.”
“And not one of those apologies where she says she’s sorry I misunderstood being slapped.”
Thomas nodded.
Claire pressed the peas against her cheek.
“And Léa.”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
“She owes Léa an apology too.”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice made Claire feel unexpectedly tired.
She had spent years assuming Thomas’s silence meant agreement.
Now she wondered how much of it had been fear disguised as patience.
Upstairs, Léa called out.
Claire stood immediately.
Thomas reached for her wrist.
“I’ll go.”
“She’ll want me.”
“She saw you get hurt.”
The sentence stopped Claire.
Thomas released her.
“Let me try first.”
He went upstairs.
Claire remained in the kitchen.
For the first time since leaving Marie’s house, she was alone.
The house felt strangely large.
She opened the dishwasher, stared into it, then shut it without doing anything.
A plate from breakfast was still on the counter.
There was dried egg on the edge.
Claire found herself scraping at it with her thumbnail.
She did not notice she was crying until a tear struck the ceramic.
Upstairs, Thomas’s voice murmured through the ceiling.
A minute later, Léa began crying.
Claire went up.
She found Thomas sitting on the floor beside their daughter’s bed.
Léa had both arms around his neck.
When she saw Claire, she reached for her.
“Mommy.”
Claire sat beside them.
Léa touched Claire’s cheek carefully.
“Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
“Grandma is bad.”
Claire glanced at Thomas.
He looked miserable.
“Grandma did something very bad,” Claire said.
“Is she bad?”
Claire hesitated.
May you like
There were a hundred easy answers and none of them felt right.
“People can do bad things.”
