Chapter 17 - THE QUESTIONS CHILDREN ASK
Maisie was seven when she asked why her parents weren’t married anymore.
We were driving home from school.
No warning.
Children rarely schedule difficult conversations politely.
“Did Daddy stop loving you?”
“No.”
“Did you stop loving Daddy?”
I considered lying.
Then remembered what secrecy had done to Evan’s family.
“I loved your dad.”
“Past tense.”
I glanced at her in the mirror.
“When did you become a lawyer?”
“Tuesday.”
I laughed.
Then answered.
“Sometimes loving someone doesn’t mean you should stay married.”
“Why?”
“Because marriage also needs trust.”
“Daddy lied?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you?”
“Sometimes.”
She frowned.
“Adults are confusing.”
“Extremely.”
Then she asked the harder question.
“Was it because Margaret hit me?”
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel.
“That was part of it.”
“I remember.”
I looked at her reflection.
“What do you remember?”
“The soup.”
My heart hurt.
“And Mommy being really angry.”
“Yes.”
“You hit Daddy.”
“Yes.”
“Three times.”
I nearly drove onto the shoulder.
“You remember that?”
“Tessa showed me the video.”
I almost called Tessa immediately.
Then Maisie added:
“When I asked.”
That changed things slightly.
Still, we had a conversation.
A long one.
Later, Maisie asked Evan about it too.
He didn’t hide.
“I should have protected you.”
“You were scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“But you were big.”
Evan smiled sadly.
“You can be big and still scared.”
“Are you scared now?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do?”
“I talk about it.”
Maisie considered this.
“Better than doing nothing.”
“Yes.”
She had inherited my talent for delivering painful truths casually.
Evan accepted them.
That year, he became a certified electrician.
Nobody expected that.
Least of all me.
He liked working with his hands.
He liked solving problems with clear answers.
Wire goes here.
Current goes there.
No boardrooms.
No family politics.
No Margaret.
He eventually opened a small business.
Hale Electrical.
I teased him about keeping the surname.
“It’s mine too,” he said.
That answer surprised me.
Margaret had made Hale a symbol of fear.
Evan decided she didn’t own the name either.
Fair enough.
He became a good father.
Not perfect.
Good.
There’s a difference.
Perfect parents exist mostly in advertisements.
Good parents apologize.
Learn.
Return.
Listen.
One evening after Maisie’s eighth birthday, Evan and I sat on my porch.
“She asked whether I’m going to marry again,” he said.
“What did you tell her?”
“Maybe someday.”
“Are you?”
He shrugged.
“I’m seeing someone.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Does she know you burn pancakes?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She owns a fire extinguisher.”
“Promising.”
Her name was Nora.
She was kind.
Independent.
Completely unimpressed by the Hale history.
I liked her.
Maisie loved her.
That frightened me initially.
Then I realized fear couldn’t become my version of Margaret’s control.
So I let the relationship grow without interfering.
A year later, Evan married Nora.
I attended.
People found that strange.
I didn’t.
The man standing at the altar wasn’t the man whose glasses I had knocked into mushroom soup.
He wasn’t my husband anymore.
But he had done the work to become someone else.
At the reception, Maisie danced between us.
Then Tessa approached with her phone.
“Remember the last Hale family event I livestreamed?”
I groaned.
“Do not.”
She laughed.
“No livestream.”
“Good.”
“But I have something you should see.”
She showed me an email.
It came from the prison.
Margaret had suffered a stroke.
Her health was failing.
She had requested one visitor.
Not Evan.
Not Tessa.
May you like
Not Rebecca.
Me.
