Page 18 of The Weight of Her Silence
“I’m not asking you to burn your life down,” she added, softly now.
“But if you ever did… I’d be here. Waiting. Not as the other woman. But as your woman.”
He sat up slowly, heart thudding in his chest, staring out the window.
A future without Lila?
He hadn’t let himself think that far. Not truly. It had always been this messy middle ground—cheating but not leaving, lying but not losing, living two lives that could never coexist.
But Camille… she made it feel like a choice he could make.
She kissed his shoulder gently.
“You don’t have to decide now. Just know... there’s a world where we don’t have to hide.”
And for the first time, Nate didn’t recoil from the idea. He entertained it. Let it take root.
Lila
She passed out in the shower that morning. Not long. Just enough for the water to go cold and Ava to start banging on the door. When she came to, she wrapped herself in a toweland sat on the floor until the dizziness passed, heart racing, eyes stinging.
“Mom?” Ava’s voice was worried.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing her voice steady.
“Just tired.”
Lies. She was telling so many of them lately, she’d started believing her own.
That afternoon, she canceled her doctor’s appointment. The next day, she rescheduled it. The cycle repeated itself until she realized—what was the point?
If Nate noticed her weight loss or the way her hands trembled sometimes, he said nothing. He barely looked at her anymore.
But the children noticed.
Ava watched her too closely now. Caleb lingered when she coughed. Both of them started staying in her orbit like gravity had shifted and pulled them closer.
She tried to shield them from it. From the slow collapse happening beneath her skin.
But kids always saw what adults tried to hide. One night, Ava cornered her in the laundry room, arms folded.
“You’re sick.”
Lila blinked. “What?”
“You’re not eating. You sleep all the time. And you nearly fainted at Caleb’s soccer game.”
“I’m just tired—”
“Stop lying.”
The words hit her like a slap. Ava’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
She was her mother’s daughter—sharp, perceptive, stubborn.
“You promised we could always talk,” Ava whispered.
