Chương 6
Luca did not answer.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
“I thought they might.”
“You thought they might?”
He rubbed his face.
“Jessi, please.”
“No.”
She stood across from him.
“You don’t get to use my name like we’re still having a normal conversation.”
His eyes lowered.
“I was scared.”
“Good.”
The word came out before she could soften it.
“I was scared too.”
Luca looked hurt.
That almost made her angry again.
Because he was still capable of feeling hurt.
“I never wanted Fiona involved.”
Jessi stared at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“What?”
“You talk about what you wanted.”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“She spent a night on the floor because of what you wanted.”
Luca closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked like he might finally break.
But then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Jessi noticed the hesitation.
Again.
Always the hesitation.
“Who is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Answer it.”
He did not move.
“Luca.”
He answered.
“Hello?”
The room was silent enough that Jessi could hear the faint voice on the other end.
A man.
Upset.
Luca stood.
“Not now.”
The voice became louder.
Luca walked toward the back door.
Jessi followed a few steps behind.
“Mark?”
The name escaped before Luca could stop her.
He turned.
Too late.
A pause came from the phone.
Then the call ended.
Luca stared at the screen.
“You weren’t supposed to know he was calling.”
Jessi felt something cold move through her.
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to handle it.”
“You were trying to hide it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her voice rose slightly.
Not a scream.
Just enough to show the exhaustion underneath.
“You keep changing the words.”
Luca looked away.
“I thought I could fix everything before you found out.”
“Why did you think that?”
He did not answer.
That silence was different.
Not guilt.
Something closer to shame.
“Because if I told you, you would look at me differently.”
Jessi stared at him.
The honesty hurt.
Not because it was noble.
Because it was selfish.
“You were afraid I would see who you were.”
Luca swallowed.
“Yes.”
The answer was almost too quiet to hear.
Jessi looked toward the backyard.
The grass needed cutting.
A toy truck sat near the fence from when Fiona had played outside two days earlier.
A normal scene.
A normal home.
A life that still looked like itself.
“You should have been afraid of hurting her.”
Luca looked down.
“I was.”
“No.”
Jessi shook her head.
“You were afraid of losing what you had.”
He did not argue.
Later that afternoon, Jessi took Fiona to her mother’s house.
The drive was quiet.
Fiona watched the passing cars through the window.
She asked questions that had no simple answers.
“Is Daddy mad?”
“No.”
“Is he coming?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Aunt Chloe do something bad?”
Jessi tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“I think Aunt Chloe made a choice that hurt us.”
“Are you mad at her?”
“Yes.”
Fiona looked at her.
“Can you be mad and still love someone?”
Jessi glanced at her daughter.
The question felt too big for five years old.
“Yes.”
“Like Daddy?”
Jessi’s hands tightened.
“Yes.”
Fiona nodded.
She accepted the answer in the way children sometimes do.
Not because they understand.
Because they trust the person giving it.
At her mother’s house, Jessi watched Fiona run toward the front door.
Her mother opened it before she knocked.
One look at Jessi’s face was enough.
No questions.
Just arms around her.
For a few seconds, Jessi let herself be someone’s daughter instead of someone responsible for everyone else.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
She opened it.
It was from Mark Ellison.
The message contained only one sentence.
You need to ask your husband why he never told you about the second account.
Jessi read it twice.
Then a third time.
She looked toward the house where Fiona was safe.
She looked back at the message.
The betrayal was no longer a single person.
It was a door.
And behind it were rooms she had never known existed.
Jessi did not tell her mother about the message right away.
She sat at the kitchen table with her phone face down beside her and listened to the familiar sounds of the house.
The old refrigerator humming.
The clock above the stove ticking too loudly.
Her mother opening cabinets and pretending she was not giving Jessi space.
That was something her mother had always done.
She knew when to speak and when silence was the kinder choice.
“You’re thinking too hard,” her mother finally said.
Jessi looked up.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
Her mother placed a mug of tea in front of her.
“You don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
“That’s not how I work.”
“I know.”
The answer was gentle.
Not approving.
Not criticizing.
Just true.
Jessi wrapped both hands around the mug.
At the hospital, uncertainty was something people survived by following steps.
Check the airway.
Check the bleeding.
Check the medication.
Find the problem.
Fix what could be fixed.
Life outside the hospital did not work that way.
There were no monitors showing when trust was failing.
No alarms when someone crossed a line.
No clear number that told you how much damage had been done.
“I feel like I missed something obvious,” Jessi said.
Her mother sat across from her.
“You missed what someone worked very hard to hide.”
“But I know people.”
“You know patients.”
Jessi frowned.
Her mother continued.
“You know how to read someone who wants help.”
She pointed toward the phone.
“You are not always going to recognize someone who wants to deceive you.”
Jessi looked away.
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to defend the part of herself that believed she should have seen it.
But she could not.
Because deep down, she knew the truth.
She had seen pieces.
She had just chosen explanations that hurt less.
May you like
The late nights.
The secretive phone calls.
