Chapter 15
Victor saw Lucy before he left.
My decision.
Not his.
Not hers alone either.
I asked Lucy if she wanted to see him.
She said yes.
He entered the sitting room looking smaller without his family ring.
Lucy sat beside Isabella.
I remained near the window.
Victor looked at her.
“Hi, kid.”
Lucy did not smile.
“Why did you say Mom was dead?”
No adult in the room moved.
Victor swallowed.
“Because I thought it would keep people safe.”
“Did it?”
He looked at Isabella.
Then me.
“No.”
Lucy thought about that.
“Did you know Mom was alive?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
That was the real betrayal in child language.
Not strategy.
Every day.
Every birthday.
Every flower beside the urn.
Every time she asked a question and he knew the answer.
She looked down.
“I don’t want you to read stories anymore.”
Victor’s face broke.
Good.
Not because I wanted him hurt.
Because consequence had finally reached the place he could not rationalize.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Lucy looked at Isabella.
Then at me.
“Can he go now?”
“Yes.”
Victor stood.
He paused beside me.
No apology.
Maybe none would have been enough.
Then he left.
Lucy climbed into Isabella’s lap.
I watched the door close.
May you like
Victor lost more in that five-minute conversation than he would have lost from a beating.
He lost the version of himself that still believed good intentions could erase betrayal.
