Chapter Forty-Seven

Chap ter Forty-Seven

T he next morning , I pace the house, my core sore, throbbing, as I contemplate my next move. I know I have to go. I know what needs to be done. I'm trying to break through a door that's long closed and sealed shut.

I will leave, for the both of us. I'm only hurting us by staying. I admit to myself I had hoped we could put it behind us, never Dominic, but all of the heartbreak and deception. We were torn apart before we had a chance to be. His unreasonable anger with me I can't fully understand. It was horrible circumstances that ruined us that night, and I now know that the easiest way for him is to blame our relationship as a whole and deny me for himself as penance. And I get to share in that punishment no matter how much I want just a measure of absolution.

In a haze, I find myself in my father's room. When I lived here, I never, not once, was curious about his living quarters. It was just a part of the house I never dared enter aside from the night Tobias showed up injured. Entering his room now, I see the room of a stranger. The whole of it covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the mountains. His furniture is simple, elegant, dark mahogany, and void of much life. Aside from the fading smell of lemon polish, it remains untouched. Just the way he left it the day he died. I open his chest of drawers and lift some of his socks before pulling out one of his T-shirts. I've never known my father's smell. He never hugged me, held me. Never. He wasn't that man. That thought saddens me as I inhale the laundered shirt. And then it occurs to me.

Roman died without a single soul mourning him, not even his only daughter.

His cover-up of Dominic's death had settled my fate with him. I never spoke to him again after that, and he rarely ever reached out.

And if I'm not careful, I might not have many who mourn me when my time comes.

But from what I knew, we were two different people who live and lived completely different lives. I'm still reeling from the fact Tobias swallowed his pride and met with him, told him he loved me, swore to keep me safe all the while protecting him, a man who covered up his parents' deaths, accidental or not, and gave him money in return.

Tobias got the same consolation I did.

Money.

The most necessary of evils that can completely change a person for better or worse.

My mother lives comfortably now, but she's grown used to it, and it's brought her no greater happiness. It never brought my father any either.

And for me, it is an insult. I hate it. I hate the power it gives to those who don't deserve it, and the lives it steals for those who are a slave for just a little of it. I hate the greed, and the thirsty deeds done to acquire it, and the fear and the bitterness it inspires in those who don't have it.

I hate everything it stands for.

It's not a God, but a runner-up to blame for a lot of life's cruelties.

I lay on Roman's bed, on the stark white comforter, and stare up at the ceiling. Despite my need for something— closure, or just the necessity to grieve properly because I was denied—I've caused more damage to myself.

But I asked for it.

And now I'm lying in the bed I made.

In truth, I got some of what I came for: answers. And I fight myself to be satisfied with that.

Last night, getting physical with Tobias only opened an old wound and helped us bleed out a little faster, but the truth is, we are bleeding out . He'd ended his relationship, but that meant nothing if he couldn't accept us. And his words and actions last night only told me he never would.

It is love, but it's love lost, no matter who's to blame, and it's time I face it.

Fighting with him brought me back to life in a way, and having him inside me, no matter how angry he was, was proof that nothing or no one can take his place. His touch will forever be the only touch I'll ever want.

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 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 and 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-six 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.