He hesitated. “Not immediately.”
“Then you weren’t repairing it. You were asking Emily to trust you while you kept lying.”
He sat down. “I know.”
I showed him the letters, and his expression changed when he saw Lily’s name.
“She wrote those?”
“Yes.”
He covered his eyes.
“I found messages after the funeral,” he admitted. “I knew she’d been looking at apartments. Victoria told me about the attorney.”
“And you kept it secret.”
“What was I supposed to tell a six-year-old? That Mommy wanted to leave Daddy?”
“No. But you could have told the adults who loved her. You could have stopped telling everyone she was perfectly happy.”
He cried quietly.
“I needed to believe we would’ve stayed together.”
I sat across from him.
“Then say that. Say it’s what you hoped for. Don’t lie.”
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he asked, “Do you hate me?”
“No. You’re my son. But I am disappointed, and I don’t trust what you tell me about that marriage anymore.”
