The message appeared on a rainy Tuesday evening.
Wren was twenty-one by then, home from college for a few days, and sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open while Simone prepared tea.
“Mom?”
Simone looked over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You're asking already.”
Wren smiled.
“I found something.”
She turned the laptop around.
On the screen was an old email thread.
Simone recognized the sender immediately.
Faye.
The date was from years earlier.
Before Wren had been born.
Before the dinner.
Before the Escalade.
Before Simone had left.
Simone dried her hands and sat down.
“What is it?”
“I was looking through the family archive.”
“You have a family archive?”
“Apparently Grandpa does.”
Simone sighed.
“Of course he does.”
Wren scrolled.
“There are emails between Grandma and Dad.”
Simone stared at the screen.
“What kind of emails?”
“I don't know yet.”
She read the first one.
Faye had written that she was worried about Roland.
She said he seemed overwhelmed.
She said Simone was demanding too much.
She said he needed time with his family.
Simone felt a familiar pressure beneath her ribs.
“How many are there?”
“Several.”
Wren looked at her.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Simone thought about it.
“No.”
She read the next.
Faye had complained that Simone spent too much time with her father.
Another message accused Simone of making Roland feel guilty whenever he went out without her.
Another suggested that after the baby arrived, Roland should spend more time with his own family before Simone “became too attached to having him entirely to herself.”
Simone sat back.
She had known Faye had interfered.
She had not known how early it began.
Wren closed the laptop.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“You look upset.”
“I am.”
“Do you want Dad to know?”
Simone looked toward the hallway.
Roland was upstairs.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want to reopen something just because I found another piece of it.”
Wren nodded.
That was the difference between curiosity and compulsion.
Simone had spent years needing every answer.
Now she knew some answers did not change the choices she had already made.
That evening, however, she told Roland.
Not because she wanted him to defend himself.
Because she had promised there would be no more hidden information in their marriage.
He listened.
When she finished, he was quiet.
“I remember those emails.”
Simone looked at him.
“You remember?”
“Yes.”
“You saw them?”
“I received some.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“No.”
She felt disappointment rather than shock.
“Why?”
“I didn't know how to tell you my mother was saying those things.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
“Did you agree with her?”
“Not everything.”
“Some things?”
Roland looked down.
“Sometimes.”
The honesty hurt.
But it was better than the old version of him.
Simone nodded.
“What did you agree with?”
“That I was overwhelmed.”
“That isn't the same as agreeing with her about me.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“I sometimes thought you expected me to know how to be a husband and father immediately.”
“You expected yourself to know too.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of admitting you were struggling, you listened to your mother.”
“Yes.”
Simone looked toward the window.
“That was the beginning.”
“Yes.”
They sat quietly.
Then Roland said, “There's something else.”
Simone turned.
“What?”
“I never told you because I was embarrassed.”
“Tell me now.”
He hesitated.
“The night you left, my mother called me before I got to the restaurant.”
Simone frowned.
“Why?”
“She asked whether you were coming.”
“And?”
“I told her you weren't.”
“Why?”
“Because I had already told her you were staying home.”
Simone stared at him.
“So she knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew before she texted me.”
“Yes.”
The old message suddenly looked different.
It had not been an impulsive remark.
It had been part of a plan.
Simone stood.
“I need some air.”
Roland did not stop her.
Outside, rain tapped against the porch roof.
Wren came out a few minutes later.
“You okay?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened?”
Simone told her.
Wren listened.
When she finished, Wren said, “Do you want me to hate her?”
Simone looked at her.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't want your relationship with her built around my pain.”
Wren nodded.
“But you can be angry.”
“Yes.”
“Can I be angry?”
“Yes.”
“Can Dad be angry?”
“He should be.”
Wren looked back through the window.
“He always tells me I don't have to protect him.”
Simone smiled.
“That is one of the better things he's learned.”
The following weekend, Faye came to the house.
She knew about the emails.
Roland had told her.
She stood at the front door with her coat still on.
“I didn't know Wren would find them.”
Simone answered, “Neither did I.”
Faye lowered her eyes.
“I was wrong.”
Simone nodded.
“You were.”
“I thought I was helping my son.”
“You were trying to keep him for yourself.”
Faye's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
The admission was painful but clean.
No excuses.
No argument.
No attempt to turn herself into a victim.
“I was afraid,” Faye said.
“Of what?”
“That he wouldn't need me anymore.”
Simone took a breath.
“He was supposed to need his wife.”
“I know.”
“And his daughter.”
“I know.”
Faye looked toward the hallway.
“I wish I had understood that then.”
Simone believed her.
But belief was not the same as trust.
“I can forgive you,” Simone said.
Faye looked up.
“But forgiveness doesn't mean I will forget what happened.”
“I understand.”
“And it doesn't mean you get to interfere in our marriage again.”
“You're right.”
Faye nodded.
“I won't.”
She turned to leave.
Then she stopped.
“Simone?”
“Yes?”
“You were never the reason he needed peace.”
Simone said nothing.
Faye continued.
“He was overwhelmed because his life had changed. I blamed you because blaming you was easier than accepting that my son was growing up.”
Simone looked at her.
“That may be the most honest thing you've ever told me.”
Faye smiled sadly.
“I wish I had said it sooner.”
“So do I.”
After she left, Simone stood in the doorway.
Roland came beside her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe her?”
Simone thought.
“I believe she believes what she said.”
Roland nodded.
“That's enough for today.”
Simone looked at him.
“You know what I find strange?”
“What?”
“I don't feel like I need another explanation.”
“Why?”
“Because I already know what I needed to know.”
She looked toward the driveway.
“That night wasn't an accident.”
“No.”
“It was a choice.”
“Yes.”
“And I chose too.”
Roland looked at her.
“You chose to leave.”
“I chose to come back too.”
He smiled.
“And I chose to become someone worth coming back to.”
Simone took his hand.
Neither pretended the past had disappeared.
They simply stopped asking it to tell them what the future would be.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: When Simone discovered what her father had quietly protected for years, she finally understood why he never pressured her to leave or stay
Six days after our daughter was born, my husband left us behind for dinner, but the message from his mother revealed that my exclusion had been planned
Part 9 of 28
