Part 7
Julian stood.
The sound of him moving seemed too loud in the room.
“You all keep doing this,” he said. “You say enough when it gets close to the truth, and then you call it love because nobody leaves.”
Gideon turned toward him.
“This is not your place.”
“It became my place when you asked me to lie to her.”
“I never asked you to lie.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Celia closed her eyes.
Maren felt Gideon’s hand still beneath her head. The warmth of it made her want to pull away, but pain flashed again when she tried.
He noticed.
“Don’t move yet,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
His eyes came back to hers.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Maren had imagined this confrontation so many times that she had expected it to feel grander. She had imagined standing across a table from him, saying the exact sentence that would make him understand. She had imagined his face changing. She had imagined the years between them collapsing into something simple and clean.
Instead she lay on the floor in a dress that felt suddenly ridiculous, with strands of hair stuck to her cheek and Gideon’s hand beneath her neck because she could not lift herself without pain.
The truth had not made her feel free.
It had made her feel exposed.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said.
Gideon’s hand tightened once, then loosened.
“That is not true.”
“No?”
“No.” His voice was quiet now. “You want me to have been someone different.”
The words found their mark.
Maren looked away.
Celia made a small, wounded sound.
Julian stared at the floor.
Gideon continued, and she could hear how difficult it was for him to keep speaking.
“You want me to have known when you were asking for help and when you were asking to be left alone. You want me to have understood that those were not the same thing.”
She swallowed.
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
The admission hung there.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
But real.
Maren stared at the blue reflections trembling in the glass panels. Outside, the night pressed itself against the mansion, featureless and distant. The house did not feel large anymore. It felt airless. Like every room had been built to preserve the sound of old arguments.
“I told you I wanted to sell,” she said.
Gideon nodded.
“You told me you wanted to burn every bridge you had.”
“I told you I wanted a life that didn’t need your permission.”
“You have never needed my permission.”
She laughed through her breath.
Julian looked up sharply.
Celia’s face tightened.
Maren turned toward Gideon.
“You actually believe that.”
“I know it.”
“You still think giving me a house was freedom.”
“It was.”
“It was a house with your name on every wall.”
“It was your house.”
“You came in whenever you wanted.”
“I lived here.”
“You kept keys.”
“It was my home.”
“It was mine too.”
The last word came out louder than she intended.
It echoed strangely.
Gideon looked at the black floor between them.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its steadiness.
“I gave you that house because I thought it would make you feel safe.”
“You gave it to me because you thought if I owned something from you, I would never really leave.”
He closed his eyes.
Celia pressed her lips together.
Julian looked at Maren as though he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.
The room went quiet except for the soft hum of the recessed lights beyond the double doors.
Maren could hear her own breathing. Too fast. Too shallow.
Gideon noticed again.
“Slow down,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Maren.”
“Don’t say my name like you can fix this.”
“I’m not trying to fix it.”
“You are always trying to fix it.”
His eyes were wet now.
She saw it and wished she had not.
For much of her life, Gideon had seemed immune to ordinary damage. He did not slouch. He did not lose his temper in public. He did not leave messages half-finished or forget dates or show uncertainty in a way that could be used against him. He had built himself into someone who could survive any kind of disappointment as long as it was his own.
Seeing him shaken did not satisfy her.
It only made the room more dangerous.
Julian took one step closer.
“Can I get her water?” he asked.
Maren looked at him.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I wasn’t asking you to forgive me.”
“I know.”
“I just want to do one thing that doesn’t make this worse.”
She felt something twist painfully in her chest.
May you like
“That would be new.”
His face crumpled for a second. He looked away before anyone else could see it clearly.
