Chapter 11 - The Truth Conrad Could No Longer Blame on His Father
Conrad turned off the video.
I didn't let him.
"Turn it back on."
"Cecily."
"Turn it back on."
He did.
Howard continued.
Eight years earlier, Conrad had been terrified.
Not of me.
Not even of our marriage.
Of fatherhood.
Howard knew it because Conrad had told him.
The night before I announced my pregnancy, Conrad learned his company expected him to move to Seattle.
He saw it as an escape from responsibilities he hadn't known how to carry.
Then I told him I was pregnant.
Howard's forged emails gave Conrad the excuse he needed.
He didn't investigate because investigation might have forced him to stay.
Conrad stood motionless in the storage unit.
When the video ended, he spoke before I could.
"He's right."
I had expected denial.
Instead, he gave me truth.
"I was scared."
I said nothing.
"My father was controlling my career. Our marriage was struggling. I felt like every decision in my life belonged to someone else."
His eyes met mine.
"Then you told me you were pregnant, and instead of thinking about you, I thought about myself."
I swallowed.
"That sounds more like the man I remember."
He nodded.
"I wanted the emails to be true."
That hurt more than I expected.
But it also mattered.
Because for the first time, Conrad wasn't hiding behind Howard.
"I left because my father lied."
He paused.
"But I also left because I was weak enough to believe the lie without asking questions."
We stood in silence.
Then I said:
"Thank you."
He looked surprised.
"For what?"
"For finally apologizing for the thing you actually did."
His eyes filled.
"I'm sorry."
This time, I let the words exist.
Not as forgiveness.
As truth.
When we returned to the lodge, the children were building a snow fort with Margaret.
Conrad watched them through the window.
"Can I meet them?"
I frowned.
"You've met them."
"No."
He looked at me.
"I mean really meet them."
That decision wasn't entirely mine.
So we asked them.
Noah shrugged.
"You can have dinner with us."
Ava wanted to know whether he liked dogs.
Miles asked if he played chess.
Sophie asked the hardest question.
"Are you going to leave again?"
Conrad looked at her.
"No."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You don't know that."
He seemed stunned.
Sophie continued.
"Adults promise stuff when they're emotional."
I almost smiled.
She was definitely my daughter.
Conrad crouched.
"You're right."
He thought carefully.
"So I won't promise I'll never make a mistake."
He touched his chest.
"But I can promise I won't disappear."
Sophie studied him.
Then nodded.
"That's better."
Christmas dinner finally happened three hours late.
Nobody cared.
The children sat near Conrad.
He listened more than he talked.
For the first time, he learned Noah loved astronomy.
Ava wrote stories.
Miles could beat adults at chess.
Sophie wanted to become a veterinarian despite being afraid of geese.
Conrad laughed.
I watched him.
And for one dangerous moment, I saw the man I had once hoped he would become.
Then Felicity touched my arm.
"Can we talk?"
We stepped onto the enclosed back porch.
She looked through the glass at Conrad and the children.
"I'm ending the engagement."
I stared at her.
"You don't have to do that because of me."
"I'm not."
She smiled sadly.
"I'm doing it because I realized something tonight."
"What?"
"Conrad never finished grieving your marriage."
I looked away.
Felicity continued.
"And I won't marry a man while part of his life is still standing at the door waiting to be understood."
Then she handed me a small envelope.
"I found this in Howard's office three months ago."
Inside was a photograph.
Conrad and me on our wedding day.
Howard had written something across the back only weeks before his death.
If they ever find each other again, I hope my son has become the man I prevented him from being.
I stared at it.
But beneath the photograph was another note.
Written by Conrad.
Not Howard.
Dated seven years earlier.
Cecily, I don't know whether this will ever reach you, but I need to know whether the miscarriage was my fault.
I looked at Felicity.
"Where did you find this?"
"Howard's desk."
May you like
Conrad had tried to contact me too.
And Howard had buried that letter with mine.
