Page 35 of The Weight of Her Silence
She was calm.
“Your mom is going through something difficult,” Nate began, swallowing guilt like bile.
“And I’ve been under pressure at work. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m not—this isn’t about an affair.”
It was a lie that tasted bitter.
Ava’s eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t say you weren’t. You just said this isn’t about an affair.”
Nate flinched. “I’m doing my best.”
She shook her head.
“No, you’re doing your best to pretend you’re still the man we used to trust.”
And then she turned and walked out, leaving the door open, the air thick with everything he couldn’t say.
Lila
From the window upstairs, Lila watched her daughter walk down the hall and close her door. She didn’t know the words exchanged but she saw the look in Ava’s eyes.
It was the same one she saw in her own reflection more and more these days. Something was breaking.
Quietly.
Permanently and maybe it had been for a long time.
Chapter 28
The Letter She May Never Give
The house was silent. It had been for days now. But tonight, the silence felt reverent. Like even the walls were holding their breath. Lila sat at the small writing desk tucked in the corner of her bedroom, a thick knit shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hands trembled slightly—not from the illness, but from the weight of everything she’d been holding in.
The words had pressed against her ribs for months. Now, they begged to be let out. She pulled out a sheet of thick ivory stationery and uncapped her fountain pen.
She didn’t know if he would ever read it. She didn’t know if she’d be brave enough to leave it somewhere he’d find but she had to write it
For herself.
For the girl she used to be. For the woman who had once believed in forever. She inhaled slowly, then began.
Nate,
I don’t know how to start this letter.
Not because I don’t have words—I have too many. Too many thoughts, memories, questions. Too many hurts I’ve swallowed quietly, pretending they didn’t matter.
But they do. They always did.
I still remember the first night we met. You were wearing that awful striped tie, remember? The one that made you look like you didn’t know what you were doing, but you smiled like you knew exactly what you wanted.
Me.
And I fell. God, did I fall. Fast. Hard. Without fear.
You made me feel seen in a way no one ever had. You made me believe in something bigger than myself. And when we built this life—this family—I thought, this is it. This is home.
