Page 54 of The Weight of Her Silence
He nodded slowly. “Come in.”
She didn’t sit. She stood just inside the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes weren’t red. No tears. Just a kind of quiet fire burning beneath her skin.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
Nate blinked. “Ava—”
“Just answer me.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I—I don’t know if that’s the right question,” he said eventually, voice hoarse.
She laughed. A dry, broken sound.
“That’s not an answer.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“I made a mistake. A huge one. One that started small and grew, and I kept telling myself I could handle it, that it wouldn’t touch any of you.”
“But it did, Dad.” Her voice cracked for the first time.
“It is. Mom’s in a hospital bed, Caleb can barely look at you, and I’m the one trying to hold us together while you were out…” She shook her head, unable to say it.
“I never stopped loving your mother,” he said, desperate now.
“Then how could you do this to her?”
The words sliced through the room.
Nate swallowed hard. “Because I was weak. Because I was selfish. Because something in me broke a long time ago and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. Camille—she made me feel seen when I didn’t feel like a man anymore. I didn’t think Lila wanted me. Not really.”
Ava flinched.
“You know what’s disgusting? That you’re trying to justify it. You cheated on her. For years. You didn’t just hurt her—you betrayed her.”
Nate’s chest caved under the weight of her words.
“I know. I know I did.”
She shook her head, fighting back tears.
“I used to think you were the safest person in the world. That no matter what happened, you’d never lie to us.”
“Ava—”
“I found the photos on your phone. From months ago. I saw the texts. The hotel receipts. Caleb saw you hugging her in public. Do you think we’re stupid?”
“No—God, no.” His voice broke.
“You’re not. You’re both so much smarter than I ever gave you credit for. I just… I was scared. I thought I could end it before it came to this.
But I didn’t. And I’m so sorry.”
Ava didn’t speak for a long moment. Her arms were trembling now, clenched too tightly against herself.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” she whispered.
