Chapter 12 - The Last Night
The house felt different after Diane left.
Smaller somehow.
Less haunted.
Madison stayed.
Not because I asked her to.
Because she had nowhere immediate to go.
But now she asked permission before opening my refrigerator.
The change almost hurt more than the entitlement had.
It proved respect had always been possible.
One evening, I stopped by to collect the last of my clothes.
Madison was alone.
She sat at the kitchen table.
“Eric is looking at apartments.”
“I know.”
“He found one.”
“Good.”
“He says I can stay for six months.”
“That’s generous.”
She smiled sadly.
“You probably think we’re pathetic.”
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I think you got used to someone solving problems for you.”
“Mom.”
“And Eric.”
“And you,” she said.
I stopped.
Madison looked down.
“Especially you.”
Silence.
“I didn’t realize how much you did because you never complained.”
“I complained.”
She winced.
“Yeah.”
“That was part of the problem. You heard me. You just didn’t believe I meant it.”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
This time, I believed her.
Eric arrived half an hour later.
He carried two boxes.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked older.
“Mom isn’t speaking to me,” he said.
I zipped my suitcase.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I looked up.
He gave a small smile.
“That wasn’t an accusation.”
I smiled back despite myself.
He leaned against the doorway.
“I found an apartment.”
“Madison told me.”
“Two bedrooms.”
“That’s good.”
“I can’t afford the neighborhood I wanted.”
There was no bitterness in his voice.
Just reality.
“I probably needed to learn that.”
I closed the suitcase.
He watched.
“When do you leave?”
“Friday.”
“For London?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“So soon.”
“Yes.”
He walked toward the window.
“I keep replaying that dinner.”
I said nothing.
“I keep hearing myself.”
His jaw tightened.
“Watch your mouth.”
Silence filled the room.
“I sounded like my father.”
I knew little about Eric’s father except that Diane had divorced him when Eric was twelve.
“He used to talk to Mom that way,” Eric said.
“I hated him for it.”
He laughed bitterly.
“And then I did exactly the same thing.”
“You can change.”
He looked hopeful.
I finished the sentence.
“For yourself.”
The hope faded.
“I know.”
He came closer.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
That seemed to hurt him more.
“I wish I did sometimes,” I admitted. “It would make leaving easier.”
His eyes reddened.
“But I don’t trust you.”
He nodded.
“And I don’t want a marriage where I have to prove I deserve basic respect.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do.”
He reached into his pocket.
My breath caught.
He placed his wedding ring on the dresser.
“I think I finally do.”
Then the doorbell rang.
We both turned.
I went downstairs.
A courier stood outside.
“Claire Parker?”
“Yes.”
He handed me an envelope.
I signed.
The return address belonged to Eric’s attorney.
I opened it.
Eric came down behind me.
“What is it?”
I read the first page.
Then looked at him.
His face went pale.
May you like
Because the challenge to the house sale had not been withdrawn.
Not completely.
