Page 27 of Open Secrets
But Maria.
Maria smiles when someone looks at her, laughs at August’s nonsense, passes the bread when asked. She plays the part.But none of those smiles land on me. Her eyes slide right past mine, and when she does glance at me, it’s like she’s studying a stranger she doesn’t quite trust.
I don’t blame her. Not after the scene she walked into earlier.
Bethany has always been a wedge. Always. In high school, Maria hated her—hated that Bethany was always around, trailing me like a shadow. And I didn’t help when I screwed up—hooking up with her that one time, when Maria and I were broken up. It doesn’t matter that it was just once. It never should’ve happened.
The thing is, Bethany isn’t that girl anymore. She grew up. Our mistake forced her to face the truth—Maria and I weren’t ending. Not like that. Afterward, Bethany became a friend. A good one, for a while. Until five years ago, when she broke my trust. Since then, things have never been the same.
None of that matters now. Not when I catch the flicker in Maria’s jaw tonight, the way it tightened when she saw Bethany in our kitchen. That’s what matters.
After dinner, Maria insists on cleaning up while I take the kids upstairs. I don’t argue.
I walk them through their routines, referee the toothbrush wars, listen to Rain beg for “one more story,” tuck August’s dinosaur under his blanket before he notices it missing. Their breathing evens out, one by one, until the house is quiet again.
Before heading downstairs, I check on Remi and Taylor. They’re older now, past the days of climbing into my lap or begging me to read aloud. These days, I’ve stopped being the hero and turned into the boring dad. Neither talks to me much or listens, but I chalk it up to typical teenage behaviour. I know it’s normal, the distance, the eye-rolls, the silence. I don’t want to be like my ownfather, barking orders, forcing closeness, so I’ve let them keep their space. But lately, I feel like maybe I should push harder, whether they want me to or not.
By the time I get back downstairs, the kitchen is spotless. Not just tidy—spotless. Counters gleam. Every glass put away. No crumbs, no rag left out. The kind of clean that means Maria needed to keep her hands busy before her mind exploded.
Light spills from down the hall, the office door cracked just enough.
She’s in there, legs crossed in the chair, a glass of amber liquid glowing in the lamplight. Her back is straight, too straight, like the liquor is the only thing holding her up.
“Close the door,” she says, not looking at me.
I shut the door like she asked, then drop into the chair across from her. The wood barely creaks under my weight before her voice cuts through the quiet.
“Are you fucking her?”
The words hit like a punch.
“What? No.” I shoot back up out of the chair, then force myself down again, palms flat on my knees. My voice drops, desperate, sharp. “No. God, no. Maria, I told you—there haven’t been any women since the… since then.”
She nods slowly, but it isn’t agreement—it’s a blade. “Before then, though. You had free rein.”
I shake my head hard. “No. We agreed—no one we knew. That was the rule.” My chest tightens as I glance at her glass, then back at her steady eyes. “Look, I’m sorry she was here, alright?They just showed up—with cookies and a damn engagement ring. What was I supposed to do?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t soften. “Maybe not tell her I had an abortion.”
The bottom drops out from under me. My head jerks up. “I didn’t mean to, okay? It was an accident, Maria. I never thought she’d tell Mom.”
Her lips purse, thin and cold. “Anna. Or Bethany?”
I freeze.
She tilts her head, slow, deliberate. “Yeah. I know it was her. Kudos to you, Lyle. You made me believe it was Anna for five years.”
“How did you—”
She cuts me off, sharp. “Does it matter?”
I rub a hand over my face. “I guess it doesn’t.”
Her eyes pin me in place. “Why’d you tell her, Lyle?”
“I didn’t… not on purpose. She wouldn’t shut up about women who abort never being able to have kids, and she kept going and going and I—” My throat burns. “I exploded, Maria. I didn’t think.”
Her teeth sink into her lip, the way she does when she’s holding back tears. “You didn’t think the Bible-thumper who goes to your mom’s church would run straight to her with that? Tell her that her daughter-in-law killed her grandbaby?”
