Page 114 of Meet Me in the Valley
With someone who wasn’t my father.
I wasn’t supposed to see it, but I did. And something inside me cracked so hard, I’ve never really been able to put the pieces back together.
I hear what Charlotte is saying. I don’t have to become her. I can tell myself I’m not like her. That I’d never do what she did.
But when I look at what I did to Tia when I slept with Krista, it’s hard to keep believing that.
I didn’t cheat. I was single. Technically, I did nothing wrong.
But betrayal doesn’t need a technicality to exist. Itfeltlike betrayal to me. And it sure as hell did to Tia. Because Iknewwhat she meant to me, no matter how hard I tried to deny it, or blame Tia for denying it. I still acted like she was disposable. Like my fear was more important than her trust.
She trusted I wouldn’t hurt her the way I did. A lot like how my dad trusted my mom not to do the same thing. That’s the part that guts me.
Charlotte’s expression softens, her voice even and grounding. “Logan, acting out of fear doesn’t make you your mother.” She pauses, giving the words room to breathe before continuing.
“You didn’t betray someone you were committed to. You didn’t build a life and then walk away from it. What you did—running from your feelings, trying to numb them or control them the only way you knew how—that’s not the same as abandonment.” Her firm yet kind eyes hold mine. “What youdid was self-protection. Flawed? Yes. Painful? Definitely. But it wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t cruel. It was fear, not malice.”
She leans in toward the screen slightly. “The difference is, you feel the weight of it. You’re here. You’re facing it. That’s what separates you from her.”
I don’t expect the sting of tears to prick my eyes as quickly as they do, but I’m suddenly overcome with intense emotion, like a secret dam inside me finally opened the floodgates.
I take a second to compose myself, but I’m unable to stop the assault of tears that pour freely from me. I cry quietly, covering my face with my hands. Part of me is thankful that Charlotte isn’t physically in the room. She’s quiet on the other side of the screen, giving me space to process.
Wiping my tears with my shoulder, I sniffle and let out a laugh. It feels like relief. Charlotte just smiles, pride beaming in her eyes at my breakthrough.
“Sorry,” I mutter, then immediately wince at myself for saying it—again. I shake my head and wipe my face with the heel of my palm.
Charlotte doesn’t rush in. She just holds that same calm, steady gaze from the other side of the screen. Her silence isn’t distant—it’s spacious. It feels like permission.
“You don’t have to apologize for feeling,” she says softly, like she’s plucked the thought straight from my head.
I nod, swallowing hard. My throat’s raw. My chest feels cracked wide open, but in a way that finally lets the light in.
“I think I’ve been carrying this for so long that I didn’t realize how heavy it had gotten. I just—” I pause, searching. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.”
Charlotte tilts her head gently. “And now?”
I let out a breath. “Now it feels like I’m not drowning in it anymore.”
Charlotte offers a soft smile. “That’s what truth does, Logan. It hurts, but it frees. And you’re not meant to carry this alone anymore.” Her words don’t fix anything, but they make space.
Space for me to breathe. Space to admit what I’ve never said out loud.
“I think I need to talk to her,” I admit after a long pause. “My mom.”
Charlotte doesn’t react with surprise. “What do you hope that conversation will bring you?”
I hesitate, because I don’t know ifhopeis the right word. “Not forgiveness. Not even answers. I just—I think I need to stop pretending that what she did didn’t affect me. And maybe facing her is the only way I stop letting it dictate who I am.”
Charlotte nods slowly. “That sounds like a beginning.”
And somehow, that’s enough. A beginning.
Not for her.
Not for who she was.
But for me.
