Chapter 5
Daisy’s paper drawing became evidence of something painfully simple.
I found it on my desk that night.
Four figures.
One large man.
One little girl.
One woman with yellow hair.
One woman drawn as a blue outline above them.
I knew immediately.
Lucille.
Isabelle.
Daisy had made room for both.
That broke something in me.
A four-year-old understood what a thirty-two-year-old socialite did not.
New love did not require old love to vanish.
I showed Lucille the drawing the next morning.
She stared at it.
“That’s supposed to be me?”
“Yes.”
“And that?”
“Isabelle.”
Her face tightened instinctively.
There.
Even paper competition.
I said:
“Daisy already gave you a place.”
Lucille cried.
“I didn’t want a place beside a dead woman.”
“Then you should never have married a widower.”
Silence.
Correct.
My life arrived with history.
May you like
So did hers.
Marriage is not demolition.
