Page 21 of Severed Heart
“Whatever you entertain in your mind about me is imagination.”
“I could never hurt you,” he murmurs. “I’m in love with you and have been since France, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not. Sometimes I feel you look at me too—”
“I am not worth losing your station or friendship with him,” I tell him. “The work you’re doing is important—”
“We won’t be with him much longer. Come with me.”
“What?”
“Let me take you away from here, from him. I plan to return to France. I have inherited my father’s land.”
“Delphine!” Alain snaps, and we both turn to face him. His eyes roam from me to Ormand before he lifts his glass in silent demand for more vodka.
“Coming,” I say, turning back, pouring a cup as the coffee still brewing drips, sizzling on the burner.
“You’re shaking,” Ormand says.
“You say you would never hurt me”—I swallow—“but who do you think pays for your long stares?” I glance over to see his eyes drop before he speaks.
“I only want to give you a better life.” When he turns his back, I stop him with my whisper.
“You give me a better life by staying.” I know he hears me when his shoulders draw tight. “Please don’t take this from him and don’t yet go back to France. He’s not well... but if we give him more time, maybe he can be the Alain we both love again.”
He turns back to me quickly. “You’re fooling yourself.”
“Please don’t go,” I ask him, knowing how selfish my request is. “Please understand, I can’t leave. Not now.”
His eyes implore mine. “But you will consider it?”
“Ormand,” Alain snaps, this time not looking up at either of us. Grabbing the vodka bottle from the fridge, I hear Ormand’s whisper as he passes. “I will stay as long as it takes.”
* * *
Celine,
It is time to admit I have been stubborn in writing this confession. As you predicted before I left France, I have made a horrible mistake. I’m sorry I was not honest until now. I wanted so much to believe in the dream I came for, but after enduring these last few months, I’m certain that that dream has died.
When I first arrived not long ago, my letters were truthful, and my happiness with Alain was real, but I can no longer deny that my life now feels more like a nightmare.
I used to think I was smart. So smart. That I was steps ahead of other women, but now I am making the very same mistakes of lovesick fools and living a life I refused to believe I would have for myself. All I feel is the need to get things right, to try to reason with and see the Alain I once knew, but I feel it may no longer be possible.
I’m quickly becoming convinced he brought me here to support and care for him. That I am nothing but a paycheck. Somehow, I know that he assumed that at my age, I would never put it together, that a child bride would never realize his manipulation, but you know that I cannot be deceived so easily. And yet I was because now I live the deception.
Since I’ve lost the baby, it is as if I’m living outside of myself, my mind and body. Am I paying because I never wanted it?
As I examine my bruises in the mirror, I find no trace of that fearless girl you spoke of before I left, and I no longer recognize myself.
I don’t know where the soldier in me went, but I feel like the longer I stay this way, the further from her I become. I don’t know why I’m letting him convince me of his lies, and each day, start to believe them as truth. As it stands, I cannot stop loving him, no matter how hard I try. And if I can love such a monster, what does that make me?
Why am I not worth loving, Celine? Why do the men I trust and care for with all my heart holds treat me so terribly? It is not just the men in my life. It is the women, too. What is it about me that tells people it is okay to insult and hurt me?
I know I am not a kind, gentle woman. I know this much of myself, and still, I’m treated as though I’m no one to be wary of and earn no respect.
My father threw me away, and my own husband hates me and considers me a possession.
Is love so much of a weakness, and that is why we make such fools of ourselves? I am drinking now—more than I ever have. I’m ashamed to admit that I drink before my shift some days.
Please write to me soon with word from France.
