Page 59 of One Last Lie

“The children didn’t seem to think so.”

“The children are children, Mary. For God’s sake. You think Elijah’s worldly wise enough to understand that his father was hard on him because he didn’t feel a need to be engaged in his life and not because he was teaching Elijah to ‘be a man?’ You ever think that maybe Isabella liked talking to her dad because she’s thirteen and wants everything she says to be validated? I guarantee you that half the time, Johnathan didn’t even hear what she said. And Samuel? He’s eight years old. What the hell could he possibly know?”

“He can know that his father is dead.”

“But he can’t know that he’s better off without him.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“Yes it is!” she hisses. “Yes. It is! Those are my children!”

“Johnathan’s children too.”

She fires the weapon, and I shriek and drop to the ground. Behind me, glass shatters, but I don't turn around to see what she's shot.

“My children,” she says. Tears are streaming down her face now. “I carried then. I nursed them. I changed their diapers. I taught them how to walk. I taught them how to talk. I dressed them for school. Half the time, I made their meals too because the wonderful Michelin Star chef Johnathan got me as a wedding present can’t be bothered to do his fucking job half the time.

“When they got hurt, I put the bandaids on. When they were afraid, I held them at night and sang them to sleep. When they needed help with their homework, I took crash courses online so I could remember how to do long division. I took care of them, not Johnathan, but do I get credit for that? No. They only see him. Their absentee, aloof, irritable, moody bastard of a father.”

“They love you too, Cecilia.”

“It’s not just them!” she says. “Damn it, I matter too!”

Tears well in her eyes, and the gun trembles. I take a few hesitant steps forward, and she lifts the gun. I stop and say, “Of course you do.”

“Don’t patronize me! I just… God, I hate it! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I hate it!”

She’s shrieking by the end, pumping the gun up and down with the force of her emotion. I need to move quickly. She’s working herself into a frenzy, and if she gets all the way there, she’ll kill me.

“I just wanted my own life! One that wasn’t dependent on Johnathan! One where I could make my own choices and not have to worry about how it affected my royalty husband.”

“Why didn’t you leave him?”

The question is designed to keep her talking, but I am genuinely curious to hear her answer.

“And go where? You see how the kids worshipped him. They’re the only good things he gave me, and…” her lip trembled. “Why didn’t they love me?”

“They do love you. The happiest I’ve seen Isabella and Samuel is when you were playing with them in the snow. It’s the first time I thought that Isabella might recover from Johnathan’s loss. As for Elijah, he’ll come around. You know that Richard’s a child now, so he won’t be around anymore.”

She chuckles. "Got that right. The last thing I need is some dickweed who never left college thinking that because I let him screw me, I'm going to jump into his arms and let myself get carried off to become someone's wife again."

I start walking toward her again, talking so she doesn’t focus on my movement. “You can have the life you want! Everything I did, Cecilia, I did for those children. I worried that their father’s killer might kill them.”

“I would never. They’re my life.”

“I know that now. So your secret is safe with me.”

Her eyes narrow, and she looks at me. I stand still, and she says, “You’re just trying to convince me not to kill you.”

No point in trying to lie about that. “Well, yes. I’d really appreciate not getting shot in the chest.”

She laughs, and I join her. When she shakes her head and lowers the gun, I resume my steady approach. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She lifts the gun again, and I swear inwardly but stop once more. I’m about four yards from her. If I can close to within two, I might be able to rush her and take the gun. She’s younger than me, but I’m taller and heavier. I can use that to my advantage.

“I got the poison from Simon,” she said. “I didn’t tell him what I was going to use it for, but I can’t imagine he’s stupid enough not to know.” I think back to my interactions with the crooked pharmacist, and I have to agree. “I put it in his after-sex coffee.” She chuckles. “He always had to have coffee after sex. It was his ‘thing.’ Fuck if I know why, but after he finished, I had to waddle my little ass downstairs and make him a cup of dark roast. It had to be dark roast, and it had to be out of the French press. The last two years, I didn’t even bother getting dressed to go make it. I kept hoping one of the kids would walk in and ask why I was naked in the kitchen making coffee at eleven at night so I could tell them that their father couldn’t bang Mommy without drinking coffee after.”

She laughs, an unhinged, brittle sound. She’s past the point of no return. I need to move now.

“You don’t need to tell me this,” I say soothingly, hoping once more that she’ll focus on my words and not my approach. “It’s over now. You’ve gotten rid of him. You can move on and have your life again.”

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