Chapter 9: The Hardest Conversation
We sat in a small conference room that Halcourt's office offered without being asked.
A glass table, two chairs, a window looking out at the grey city.
David set his keys on the table and didn't touch them again.
I told him everything.
I did not soften it and I did not rush it.
I told him about the separation, about the night I had called my mother, about the decision I had made and the silence I had chosen.
I told him what my grandmother's letter said.
I told him about the sealed envelope.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, the room was very quiet.
"How long have you known?" he asked.
"I have known there was a possibility since before Chloe was born," I said.
"I told myself the timing made it unlikely.
I told myself it didn't matter because she was ours.
I told myself a lot of things."
"Did you ever have a test done?"
"No."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Do you want one done now?"
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"Chloe is my daughter.
She is your daughter.
Whatever a test says, that doesn't change for me.
But I understand if it changes something for you."
He looked at the table.
His hands were still.
"She called me Daddy for the first time when she was fourteen months old," he said.
"She was standing in the kitchen holding a wooden spoon and she just looked up at me and said it." He stopped.
"I don't know what a test would tell me that I don't already know."
My eyes burned.
"David—"
"But I need time," he said.
"I'm not walking out.
I'm not going anywhere.
I just need time to sit with this."
"I know."
"And Rachel." He looked up.
"I should have confronted my mother years ago.
About the way she treated Chloe.
About Nora.
About all of it.
I kept thinking I could smooth things over without a fight, and all I did was give her more room." He shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
"I know that too."
We sat together in that conference room for a while longer, not talking, the city moving quietly outside the window.
It was not comfortable.
It was not resolved.
But it was honest, and for the first time in longer than I could measure, the air between us had nothing hidden in it.
When we stood to leave, David picked up his keys and then stopped.
"What happens to Margaret now?" he asked.
"That's up to you," I said.
"She's your mother."
He nodded slowly.
"She needs to answer for what she did to Chloe."
May you like
"Yes," I said.
"She does."
