I turn on the bed and gaze out the window wondering why the men in my life could never embrace or fully trust the love I harbored for them.
Had I made it so hard?
Briefly, just briefly, I imagine what my life would have been like if I’d had a father. One who loved me as a father should. Who did more than support me financially.
I never had it rough as far as life went.
But when it came to a father’s love, I just…never had it.
I don’t want to feel sorry for myself.
But just for a few seconds, I do. I mourn that girl who grew up knowing she was an obligation.
A low-lying simmering anger trickles into my subconscious. I lift to sit on the edge of the bed as it starts to engulf me whole.
Fuck them all.
All of them.
I wasted my heart—wholly, completely. I wasted it, and it will never be mine again. I’ll never be whole.
I want to take back the years I spent hoping and praying for some returned affection. For the days and nights, and years, and months and hours and minutes, I questioned myself, my existence, and lost myself in them all.
I resent my father and my love for him.
I resent the men who made me.
I wish I never met any of them.
“FUCK YOU!”
In a burst of anger, I clear off the top of Roman’s dresser scattering mail and his cologne bottles.
Just as fast as it comes, it ebbs, but it’s there, it’s always been there, my pride, my self-respect, all that I had put aside just to give my fucking a heart a chance.
And for what?
I’m a lover who got nothing in return but a broken heart and tattered self-image. I betrayed myself for the chance of being loved.
“No more! No more!”
It was never worth it.
But I am. I am worth it.
I didn’t ask him for anything, but why did he have to make it so fucking painfully clear that he didn’t love me?
I’m the daughter of no one.
How could my mother love a man so cruel?
How could I follow in her footsteps and fall for a like-minded man, whose agenda, role in life came first over my affection?
Money. Power. I’d give it all up just to make myself whole again.
The smell of cologne permeates the room, and I open one of the windows before I kneel to pick up the glass from the broken bottle. I open his bedside drawer to place the pieces in and see a letter resting underneath a watch box. I study the thick envelope and pull it from beneath the box. The note atop of it is addressed to me.
Cecelia,
I’m everything your eyes accused me of being. You were better off.
Forgive me,
Roman
I pull it out and open it. In seconds I recognize the writing. It’s from my mother.
Roman,
I’m sorry I bombarded you the way I did. I’ve humiliated myself in a way I’ll never be able to forget. Please forgive me.
I came back after all these years to apologize. To thank you for all you sacrificed for me while carrying hopes of the girl you banished from your life.
You still haven’t married. And that gave me hope. I always secretly wondered if my lingering feelings were returned. I hope you’ll forgive me for reaching out to find out.
But I can see it now. I need to give up.
I can still remember our time together so vividly. It seems just like yesterday I was starting at the plant, and you walked in, and we just stared at one another.
You saved my life, in more ways than one with the way you took me in, the way you cared for me.
I’ve never known that kind of love before you and haven’t experienced it since. And every single day, I wonder if it meant as much to you. I couldn’t face the end of us. I still haven’t recovered from losing you, and I never will.
But I feel I stole your life from you with that horrible secret. One I would do anything to take back. My conscience eats at me daily, that I locked that door. It was my fault that fire started and my stupid judgment that caused such great loss. If only you had let me claim responsibility, if only you would now, I’d take it a thousand times over if only to set you free of the burden you carry.
And yet you never once let me step forward and never will. And I’ll never understand it. The only conclusion I can draw is that at one point in time, you did love me enough to save me, to make sure our baby was safe, and I’ll remember you that way.
Our daughter is so beautiful. She’s thriving, and I know it might be hard for you to look at her and see the mistake you made in loving me, but please try to open up, Roman, and show her the man I fell in love with.
When you look at her, I hope you feel at peace with the reason for your sacrifice, because I’ve showered the piece you gave of yourself to me with the love I will forever feel for you.
D
I read the letter over and over, calculating and recalculating the timeline, all the while praying for the facts to change.
My mother killed Tobias’s parents.
My mother.
Not my father.
Horner Technologies was a chemical plant twenty years ago. She made a careless mistake and killed two people. Accident or not, my father covered it up.
The only thing Roman Horner was guilty of was being a cheap, shrewd, and unethical businessman.
I race to the bathroom and empty my stomach before sinking onto the cold tiles.
I pull up to my mother’s house, a large three-bedroom on a lakeside lot. It’s not at all ostentatious, but the garden reminds me a lot of my father’s as I round the house following the music that drifts from an outdoor speaker. I find her there amongst the bare branches with a glass of wine by her side. Timothy is leaning over her, as they exchange words, pressing a kiss to her temple before he spots me over her shoulder. His greeting is warm, as is his smile.
“Hey there, Cecelia. Didn’t expect to see you today.”
My mother shoots from her chair, a ready smile on her lips as she turns to me. “Hey, baby. I was just thinking about calling you.”
“Glad you’re in the mood for conversation.” Her smile fades when she sees the look on my face just before I pull the letter from my purse.
“What’s wrong?”
Timothy stands by eyeing us both as I make my way toward her. She flicks her attention to the letter again a second before her face goes ashen and turns to Timothy.
“Give us a minute to catch up, babe?”
Timothy nods and eyes me, clearly sensing the situation. “Will you be staying for dinner? I’m going to put a few steaks on in a bit.”
“No, I have to get back, but thank you.”
Tension fills the air even with the overabundance of it already between us as Timothy takes his leave, and my mother reaches for a cigarette, lighting it up as she watches me closely.
“My letter?”
“Why was I safer?”
She blows out a plume of smoke, pulling her sweater tighter to her. She lifts the bottle of wine in offering, and I shake my head.
“I’m not here to catch up.”
“I see that,” she swallows. “Give me a second.”
“To think of more lies?”
Her eyes drop as she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a hearty drink.
“Why was I safer?”