Chapter 20
Everything compared with the life I had surrendered to become Mrs. Moretti.
After the party, Vincent stayed to help clean.
That still felt strange.
The first time he voluntarily carried paper plates into my kitchen, I almost checked whether he had a fever.
Now he stacked cups while I wiped frosting from the table.
Lily was asleep upstairs.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
"She had a good day," he said.
"She did."
"Margaret still hates me."
I smiled.
"Margaret doesn't hate you."
"She looked at me like she was considering poisoning my coffee."
"That's just her face."
He laughed.
Then quiet settled.
Comfortable, almost.
Vincent leaned against the counter.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
His mouth lifted.
The old Vincent would have rolled his eyes.
This Vincent accepted the joke.
"Are you happy?"
I stopped wiping the table.
It was such a simple question.
I thought about the year behind me.
The hospital.
The empty nursery.
The divorce papers.
The first night in this house when Lily cried until dawn and I cried with her.
The first project I booked under my maiden name.
The first time I went three days without wondering where Vincent was.
Then a week.
Then a month.
The morning I realized I had slept eight full hours and had not dreamed about Paris.
"Yes."
He looked down.
I almost softened the answer.
Old habits.
Then I stopped myself.
"I am."
He nodded.
"I'm glad."
His voice made it obvious that being glad hurt.
That was not my burden.
After a moment, he said, "I'm not."
I looked at him.
He smiled without humor.
"I know that's not something I'm supposed to tell you."
"You can be honest."
"I keep thinking about those thirteen days."
I didn't answer.
"I thought I was handling a crisis."
He stared at the rain.
"I thought I could go to Paris, fix what Sophia needed, come back, and everything here would still be waiting."
I folded the cloth.
"It wasn't."
"No."
He rubbed a hand over his face.
"You know what the worst part is?"
"What?"
"If you'd still been pregnant when I came home, I probably would have apologized, bought you something, and eventually convinced myself everything was fine."
I hadn't expected that level of honesty.
He continued.
"I needed the empty nursery."
My throat tightened.
"I needed to walk into that room and see nothing."