Page 59 of October
He looked away for a second, blinking hard.
"If it weren't for Uncle Robert—God rest his soul—I don't know where I'd be. OrwhoI'd be. He took me in when no one else did. Made me feel seen when I thought I was invisible. He taught me how to hold a hammer, how to drive, how to breathe when the walls closed in. He never said it out loud, but hechoseme, and that... saved me."
I didn't think. I just stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. He froze for a second, like the gesture caught him off guard. Then, his arms closed around me in a firm, warm hug—one of those embraces that says everything words never quite can. He chuckled softly into my shoulder. "We really are a huggy family, huh? Must be all the generational trauma. Squeezes out through physical affection."
I chuckled.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze steady but filled with a raw honesty that cut through the air between us. "So yeah," he said slowly, "I see myself in Thomas. I know what it means to finally look at the person who hurt you—your abuser—and tell them, without a doubt, that they've lost you forever. It might seem like a small thing to some, maybe even insignificant, but I promise you—it's not. It changes something deep inside you. It's the moment when you reclaim your power, your voice, and your life. And more than that, I want to be there for him, if that's okay with you. I want someone to stand by him, to guide him through the storm, and to help him find a better way. Tokind of pay it forward, like someone once did for me, so are you sure, it is okay for you?"
I nodded slowly, feeling my heart swell with a complicated mix of emotions—sadness for the pain we all carried, gratitude for the healing that felt possible, and a fragile flicker of hope for the future we might still shape.
"Yeah, Dad," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's more than okay."
My dad's expression softened. "You've got your mother's big heart, you know."
I smiled faintly. "I wish I had your sharp tongue, though."
He chuckled, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Excuse you. That's not a tongue—it's a finely honed weapon. Took me years to forge."
I laughed softly and rested my head on his shoulder. For a second, I let myself breathe—not in the future, not in the past, just here, "I love you, Dad. Thank you."
He didn't say anything right away, just pulled me into a hug, strong and quiet.
Chapter Nineteen: Scents of Choice
I opened the door to Thomas.
He stood there, looking older somehow, like time had moved differently for him since everything broke apart. He had files in hand, gripping them like they were both a shield and a confession. For a while, we just sat in the quiet, not hostile, butcautious. Like standing on a frozen lake, not knowing if the ice beneath us would hold.
"I want to start by apologizing," he said finally, his voice steady, but edged with a weight that had taken years to accumulate. "For everything. I was wrong. I hurt you.""
My breath caught before I could answer. My throat tightened, that familiar burn rising fast behind my eyes. I hated how quickly my body remembered the pain, even before my mind could process the words. The nights I cried alone in bed, wondering what I'd done wrong. The mornings I pretended to be okay because the kids were watching. The conversations that turned cold halfway through, like someone had flipped a switch. The endless days I waited for him to see me—not just look at me, butseeme.
His lips parted just slightly, like he wasn't sure whether to smile or cry. There were tears in his eyes now, raw and unhidden, and somehow that made it harder to look at him, not easier.
"I wish I had cherished your love," he said, voice breaking. "But I didn't. I let the weight of my own bullshit crush it. Crush you. I failedyou. I took you for granted and I will pay the price for that. Ideserveto, and ... I.... emotionally cheated."
I closed my eyes, feeling the pain of his much-awaited admission wash over me like a wave I'd braced for — but still wasn't ready for.
"Even now, saying that feels like swallowing broken glass. I denied it over and over. I twisted myself into knots trying to justify my actions — even argued with my therapist, trying to convince him that it couldn't be that. That I couldn't bethat person. Because I didn't love Laura. I didn't even come close tofeeling love. There was no passion, no desire to leave you, no dreams of a life with her. So how... how could that be betrayal?
But then my therapist explained it. Slowly. Gently. And painfully. What an emotional affair actually is — not in name, but in truth. It's not about love. It's about intimacy that doesn't belong where you put it. It's the quiet messages. The sharing of parts of yourself that should be sacred to your partner. It's the validation you seek elsewhere. The comfort. The confiding. The comparing. The escape.
And suddenly, it was like I was watching a movie of myself — all the things I'd said, the texts, the secrets, the moments I kept from you — and I felt sick. Because I saw it. Not just what I did... but who I became. And yeah. I'm ashamed. Deeply ashamed. Because no matter how I spin it, part of itwasan emotional affair as he told me. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Enough to cross a line. Enough to wound you. Enough to make you question everything you believed about us. About me.
"He said: "Emotional affairs aren't about love. They're about emotional displacement."And that line — it shattered me. Because I really thought I hadn't crossed that boundary. I convinced myself I was loyal because there was no physical betrayal, no romance.
But betrayal isn't always about sex or love. Sometimes, it's about where youinvest your heart— the parts of you that should only belong to the person you committed to. And I gave parts of me to someone else. And I kept them from you. So no... I wasn't "safe" from that label. I thought I was. I thought I could walk the edge without falling. But I wasn't walking a line — I had already crossed it.
And now here I am. Looking at the wreckage. Looking atyou, the person I vowed to honor and protect — and seeing how deeply I hurt you."
"You really did, Thomas," I said, my voice barely holding steady, the weight of everything pressing against my chest. My eyes burned, vision blurring with unshed tears. "You hurt me... deeply."
He didn't flinch. He just stood there, hands at his sides, like he was letting the words land where they may. Like he knew he deserved each one.
"I know," he said quietly, his voice hoarse. "And I am forever sorry."
There was no defense in his tone. No justification. Just raw, tired regret.
