Chapter 5 - Dad Leaves
Dad confronted Mom on Thursday.
I was not there.
I know because he called me afterward from a hotel.
“Your mother told me everything.”
His voice sounded hollow.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I left.”
I sat down.
My parents had been married thirty-eight years.
Dad had slept in that house every night except business trips and one hospital stay.
“Where are you?”
“Downtown.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“No.”
Then, after a pause, “Yes.”
I went.
Dad opened the hotel door wearing sweatpants and a dress shirt. He looked ridiculous.
That made me cry.
He hugged me.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t cry for me.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
We sat by the window.
Dad had a bourbon but no ice.
I almost laughed.
“Too soon?”
He smiled weakly.
“Probably.”
Then he said, “Your mother told me about the miscarriage.”
“I know.”
“She said she was afraid Lauren would hurt herself.”
That was new.
“What?”
“Apparently after losing the pregnancy, Lauren was in bad shape.”
I looked down.
For the first time, I saw Mom’s choices through a slightly different lens.
Not better.
But more complicated.
“She still should have told me.”
“Yes.”
Dad nodded.
“But maybe some of her silence wasn’t about protecting Ryan.”
“Maybe.”
He looked toward the city.
“I don’t know how to be angry at someone I still love.”
I understood that perfectly.
“Join the club.”
Dad almost smiled.
Then he said, “Ryan came to see me.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“How generous.”
“I told him apologizing to me was irrelevant.”
Good.
Dad continued. “Then he told me something.”
Of course.
“What?”
“He said the affair started because Lauren kissed him.”
I rolled my eyes.
Dad raised a hand.
“I’m not defending him.”
“Good.”
“He also said he tried to stop it twice.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew I had to ask Lauren.
Again.
Every truth existed in versions.
Lauren met me that evening at a park.
We sat on opposite ends of a bench.
“Did Ryan try to end it?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Christmas.”
“Because Mom caught you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I begged him not to.”
That surprised me.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She stared ahead.
“Because I was already in love with him.”
“And he?”
“He came back.”
“Then again?”
“After I miscarried.”
“He tried to end it?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you?”
“I told him I couldn’t lose the baby and him.”
The words were painful enough that my anger softened for half a second.
Then I remembered she had chosen my husband.
“Why him?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Because he looked at me.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were always the one everybody looked at.”
I stared.
Lauren continued.
“Dad was proud of your career. Mom bragged about your house. Grandma left you her jewelry. Teachers loved you. You were organized, pretty, successful, stable.”
“That isn’t Ryan’s fault.”
“No.”
“And it isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked at me.
“I spent my whole life being your sister.”
I nearly laughed.
“And I spent mine thinking we were friends.”
Her face broke.
That hurt her.
Good.
Then she whispered, “I hated myself every time you hugged me.”
I looked away.
“That doesn’t help me.”
“I know.”
“Do you still love him?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt less than lies.
“Does he love you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want him?”
She started crying.
“I don’t know.”
For once, she looked like my little sister again.
Not the woman in the red dress against the kitchen counter.
Lauren.
The girl who crawled into my bed during thunderstorms.
Who copied my hairstyle in high school.
Who cried when I moved away for college.
I hated what she had done.
I still loved the person who did it.
That was unbearable.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
She closed her eyes.
“I figured.”
“Do not think that means you won.”
Her eyes opened.
“I don’t.”
“If you and Ryan end up together, I will not pretend it doesn’t affect me.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not going to make Dad choose between us.”
She started crying harder.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not Mom.”
That sentence landed between us.
Lauren nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
I stood.
“I’m not ready for that.”
“I know.”
I walked away.
The next morning, I hired a divorce attorney.
Her name was Elise Morgan.
She was fifty, direct, and completely unimpressed by tears.
“Children?”
“No.”
“Property?”
House, retirement, investments, business interests.
She made notes.
Then asked, “Any financial misconduct?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Affair expenses?”
I froze.
Hotels.
Flights.
Nashville.
Boston.
Miami.
Dinner.
Gifts.
Ryan had used our joint credit cards.
Suddenly betrayal had a spreadsheet.
Elise looked at me.
“Get statements.”
I did.
And that was when I found the charge that changed everything again.
A $27,000 wire transfer.
May you like
To Lauren.
Dated two weeks after her miscarriage.
