Chapter 12 - THE LAST CONVERSATION
I almost said no.
Then I said yes.
Not for her.
For me.
We sat across from each other in a small attorney conference room.
A deputy stood outside.
Rachel looked older.
Her hair had gone gray at the roots.
No makeup.
No polished voice.
Just Rachel.
The woman I married at twenty-eight.
The woman who held my hand when Lily was born.
The woman who later locked Lily underground.
Both versions existed.
That was the hardest part.
“Mark.”
I said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
Still nothing.
“I know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re right.”
She flinched.
Good.
I hated myself for thinking that.
Then she whispered, “I never meant for it to get that bad.”
I stared at her.
“When did it become bad enough?”
She looked down.
“The first time you locked them downstairs?”
Silence.
“The first time you drugged Tommy?”
Her eyes filled.
“The first time Caleb begged you to call police?”
“Stop.”
“No.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“You wanted to talk.”
She covered her mouth.
“I was scared.”
“So was Lily.”
“I know.”
“She was five.”
“I know.”
“Caleb was seven.”
“I know.”
“Tommy was a baby.”
“I know!”
Her voice cracked.
The deputy looked through the window.
I stayed still.
Rachel lowered her voice.
“Eric told me he’d tell you everything.”
“The affair?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
She stared at me.
“I thought you’d take the kids.”
I almost laughed.
“You abused the kids because you were afraid I’d take them?”
“No.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
Finally.
An honest sentence.
She wiped her face.
“I kept thinking I could fix it tomorrow.”
That landed.
Tomorrow.
The most dangerous word in her life.
Tomorrow I’ll call.
Tomorrow I’ll leave him.
Tomorrow I’ll stop.
Tomorrow I’ll save them.
Meanwhile children suffered today.
“I loved you,” I said.
She started crying harder.
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t get to say you know.”
She looked at me.
“I loved you enough to trust you with the only two people in the world I would die for.”
Rachel shut her eyes.
“And you used that trust as cover.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
I stood.
“Mark.”
I turned.
“Does Lily hate me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
Rachel looked surprised.
“She’s five.”
I opened the door.
“She’s too busy trying to feel safe.”
I left.
I never spoke to her privately again.
Two weeks later, the jury reached a verdict.
Guilty.
On almost every count.
The judge sentenced Rachel to twelve years.
Eric received twenty-seven.
When the sentence was read, Rachel looked back at me.
I didn’t look away.
Not because I hated her.
Because I wanted the last thing she saw from me to be this:
I survived knowing the truth.
And so did our children.
May you like
But life didn’t magically become easy.
Three months later, Lily disappeared.
