“Lena, when we get home, I’m moving into the guesthouse. The accounts are frozen until you begin therapy. No exceptions.”
She reached toward him.
He leaned back.
I looked at Ethan.
“You have a choice to make,” I said. “And you have to make it without your mother in the room.”
Then I walked away.
My knees shook, but they held.
I packed in our room without crying.
Three weeks later, Ethan and I sat across from each other in a counselor’s office.
He looked smaller than he ever had.
“I blocked her number,” he said. “For now.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.”
I was not ready to forgive everything.
But I was ready to stop pretending nothing had happened.
On the drive home, my phone buzzed.
A message from Richard.
You were never alone in there.
I read it twice before tucking the phone into my bag.
Lena still has not apologized.
Maybe she never will.
