Page 77 of Her Ex's Father
It’s not something new, but hearing the rumor spill from her lips, it hurts all over again. My knees feel weak. Is this where she leaves me?
I can only nod, not sure where to start. Madeline’s eyes search mine.
“I don’t believe them.”
Her words come out as a relief, and they’re a balm to the fear that washed over my heart. Tugging her closer, I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. Wishing I’d been better right from the start.
I don’t deserve her.
“Thank you.”
Maddie pulls away gently, searching my face until our eyes meet again. “I need to hear it from you though, Ben, because I feel like you’re still hiding from it. Like it’s something unsaid between us. I told you—I’m not trying to replace Georgiana, but I need to know that you’re giving meall of you.”
“God, I want to,” I breathe out, wrapping her hand in mine and leading her out of the room. “I want you to know everything Maddie, and I should’ve told you sooner. I’ve just been… so much has happened, so much of it unexpected.”
She nods in understanding as we step into the hall, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. When I ask if we can go to the study, she lets me lead her there, hand still warm in mine.
Maddie nestles into the corner chair as if it’s been hers all along. It kind of has been, from the moment she joined that first business meeting months ago, and I realize now that I’ve missed her here—her quiet presence while I talk business, negotiate on the phone, glancing up to see her thoughts expressed in the squint of her eyes or tip of her head.
Instead of sitting behind the desk, I pull another chair closer to hers, and lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Georgiana was sick.”
She nods, and I wonder how she knew—who told her. Or if she read it. Georgiana’s obituary, I know, asked for donations to the ALS foundation.
“Really sick. And it was… hard. The last year or so. For her, mostly, and Derrick; they were all I cared about. It killed me that I couldn’t do anything for her. To make her more comfortable.” I shake my head, unexpectedly lost in the shadows of the past, that sensation of frustration creeping into my chest again.
“Maybe I should’ve… she put off going to the doctor for so long, and by the time she did things had progressed…but I could’ve tried to find other specialists. Or funded an experimental treatment.”
“Don’t those,” Maddie interrupts, “not always end well? She may have been more uncomfortable, in more pain…”
Even now she gives me grace.
When her fingers slip into mine, I hold onto them like a lifeline. “Yes. That’s what she pointed out, too. Even dealing with it all Georgiana was the voice of reason.” I take a beat, try to catch my breath, keep the past from dragging me down.
“Toward the end. It was rough. Derrick was terrified, I think, of what it meant—he didn’t know what to think about death, and the things Georgiana told him didn’t seem to help. Even now I wonder what he thinks happens…” I trail off, losing the thread, the point. “Anyway. There was a night when things seemed okay. We’d all had dinner together and she and Derrick played Uno. She felt good enough that I was thinking maybe the next day we’d try to go out somewhere, have a picnic in the mountains, or I could rent out her favorite restaurant, and she wouldn’t have to worry about being seen. I wanted so badly to have a good day with her that I was rushing through work, trying to finish it sooner rather than later, and when she came to say goodnight I wasn’t paying attention like I should’ve been. I was distracted. And she didn’t say goodnight; she said ‘goodbye.’”
I look up, mouth open, sucking in a breath like a drowning man. So many times, I’ve thought of that night: of what would have been different if I’d justlistenedto her.
Madeline’s eyes well over with silent tears. They spill down her cheeks, darkening the dress when they land on her belly, and her fingers squeeze mine.
“I found her later. She’d… she’d taken all the pills and tried to make it so it wouldn’t be traumatizing for me, I think. It almost looked like she was sleeping at first.”
A broken laugh strangles from my throat.
“Even planning her own death, she was thinking of me. WhenIshould’ve been thinking ofher.”
“No,” Maddie murmurs, “no, Ben. She wouldn’t have wanted that, you know that. It sounds like she knew what she wanted: to call it on her terms. And she wanted it to hurt you as little as possible.”
Another laugh, at the idea that it could have hurt less somehow. “It would’ve hurt no matter what, Maddie.” Our eyes meet again over our clasped hands. “If I’m being honest, I think that’s part of why I’ve kept some distance between us. I’m not trying to play the experience card, but the things I’ve been through…”
She nods, shifting to climb into my lap, her body warm as it presses against mine. “I know, Ben. I can’t imagine. And anyone who thinks you could’ve had a hand in doing that, could’ve done something like that at all much less without her consent…”
The past sits in the room with us, heavy. But with it is the present—the smear on my reputation that Maddie has been glimpsing here and there.
“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers. “I didn’t want you to have to relive it, but… I needed to know. To have it out between us. I couldn’t imagine moving forward…”
I nod, understanding, throat thick with grief and worry. “I should’ve done more for her,” I choke out. “I should’ve done more foryou,Maddie, instead of holding you at arm’s length?—”
