Page 135 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“I’m so sorry, Delilah,” I say.

“What’s going on?” she asks, brow scrunched tightly.

“Tell her, Henry. Tell her what you did.”

Another crash. Delilah and I both turn toward the sound. This time it’s a wedding photo on the ground. Delilah stumbles forward, and I put out a hand. “Careful. There’s too much glass, sweet pea.”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be this perfect caretaker now that she’s here.” Kimberly points at me, but her eyes are on our daughter. “Not gonna tell her? Fine. I will. He fucked your friend’s mom, that’s what he did. He cheated. He’s a goddamn cheater. He ruined everything.”

“Dad?” Delilah’s voice is so small, so childlike that for a moment I’m transported back in time to when she was little and afraid of the dark. I’d tuck her into bed, but inevitably about ten minutes later, she’d tiptoe down the hall and find me watching TV on the couch, her soft voice dragging me from whatever show to go do the whole closet-check routine over again.

This time she’s looking at the monster. A fact that strikes shame down my spine, grounding itself at my feet.

“I kissed her. I kissed Lucy. And I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.” I drop to my knees, hearing but not feeling the glass crunching beneath my weight. “Please, Delilah. Please forgive me. I love her. I’m so sorry.”

“You LOVE her? Is that what you fucking said?” Our bedroom door swings open, slamming into the wall behind it. A second later my duffel bag comes flying through the doorway, landing with a dull thud at my side. Clothes are thrown in an array of colors, so fast that I can barely make them out. Kimberly follows soon after, her face mottled red with anger. “Get out. Get. Out. I can’t look at you right now.”

“But, Delilah…”

“You should go, Dad,” Delilah says softly. Her gaze is guarded, one hand braced on the kitchen counter for support. She catches my eye and shakes her head. “It’s better if you go.”

Better for whom? I want to ask. But it’s not my place. I gave up that right when I let myself be so damn selfish for a split second. A split second that shattered my world, and hers right along with it.

“Okay,” I say, my voice a raw croak. “I’ll go.”

“And if you go see that whore, so help me God?—”

“Mom,” Delilah interjects, her voice weary.

“What?” Kimberly snaps.

“Lucy’s my?—”

“Your what, Delilah? If you think she’s anything more to you than some woman who used you to get close to your dad, you’re as stupid as your father.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” I say, rising from my knees. “This has nothing to do with her.”

Kimberly’s lips pinch together. She holds my stare for so long I consider the possibility that we’ll stay like this till we’re old and gray, neither giving an inch, while the world goes on spinning around us.

“Out,” she commands. Then she pivots on her heel, marches into our bedroom, and slams the door.

I turn to Delilah. “I’m so sorry. I can explain.”

Her gaze drops to the floor. She starts toward me, and for a moment hope rises in my chest, but it quickly crashes when she walks around me to the laundry door, which she opens. She retrieves a broom and dustpan, shuts the door, then gets to work cleaning up the shattered candle.

“Please go. It’ll make it harder on everyone if you stay.” Her voice drops off, but I still hear it when she mutters, “Especially me.”

My heart plummets, but I do as she asks. I gather my clothes, not bothering to look at what Kimberly tossed my way. I shrug the bag onto my shoulder. Cast one more glance around the bedraggled remnants of our once peaceful home, now splintered apart irrevocably.

“At least let me help you,” I say, reaching for the broom handle.

She jerks it away. There’s a fire starting in her eyes, the sparks of betrayal, when she glances up at me. “Dad.” It’s a warning. A boundary.

So I heed it. I back carefully over the glass shards toward the door, never taking my eyes off her. When I reach it, I grab the handle but keep my gaze trained on Delilah. “I love you. I’ll come back in the morning. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

“Good night,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t look up. I’m being dismissed.

I shut the door behind me, cocooning myself in the quiet night. It’s too cold out still for birds to sing, for crickets to chirp. As I pluck the glass from my skin and slip into my shoes, that fresh cut stinging, I spare a glance for the farmhouse on the hill. All its windows are aglow, floating in the darkness. I think of what it is Lucy is facing, and I pray she’s safe.

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