Chapter 12 - The Secret Behind His Fear
Roman returned for his phone seven minutes later.
I was still holding it.
He saw my face.
Then the screen.
Every bit of color left his.
"Savannah."
"Your mother is alive."
He closed the door.
"Yes."
"You told me she died."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Roman rubbed a hand across his mouth.
"Can we sit?"
"I've had enough conversations where I sit while you explain lies."
He nodded.
"Fair."
"How long have you known she's alive?"
"Always."
My stomach dropped.
"So the whole story—"
"She almost died when I was twenty. Overdose."
I stopped.
"She survived."
"Yes."
"Where has she been?"
"Arizona. Then Oregon. I think."
"You think?"
"I haven't seen her in fifteen years."
I stared at him.
"Why is she calling your therapist?"
Roman looked embarrassed.
"Dr. Levin suggested I find her."
"And you did?"
"I hired someone."
Of course.
Roman could locate anyone except apparently his own emotions.
"What does she want?"
"To see me."
"Do you want to see her?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Then his face changed.
"I don't know."
That was more honest.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was ashamed."
"Of her?"
"Of caring."
I crossed my arms.
"Roman, I was your wife."
"I know."
"Stop."
He swallowed.
"Sorry."
"You let me believe part of your family history that wasn't true for six years."
"Yes."
"Do you understand why every new lie makes the others harder to forgive?"
"Yes."
This time I let him say it.
He continued.
"When I was twenty, a hospital called. My mother had listed me as emergency contact."
"After all those years?"
"Yes."
"I flew to Phoenix."
"What happened?"
"She was unconscious."
His eyes grew distant.
"When she woke up, she asked whether my father was dead."
"Was he?"
"No."
"What did you say?"
"I said yes."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to know whether she'd come back for me if he was gone."
My chest hurt.
"And?"
"She cried."
He laughed without humor.
"Then she told me she couldn't."
"Why?"
"She had another family."
Oh.
"Children?"
"Two daughters."
Roman's half-sisters.
I'd never known.
"She said she loved me. Said she thought about me every day. Then asked me not to contact her again because her daughters didn't know about me."
I covered my mouth.
"Roman."
"I went home and told everyone she died."
"Why?"
"Because she had."
The words were cold.
But his eyes weren't.
"At least to me."
We stood in silence.
Finally I asked, "Why now?"
"She contacted Dr. Levin after the investigator I hired found her."
"How did she know who your therapist was?"
"My investigator gave her a letter from me."
"You wrote to her?"
"One sentence."
"What?"
Roman looked at me.
I have a daughter now, and I need to understand why you left yours.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Evelyn.
She had cracked open places in Roman he had cemented shut.
"Are you going to see her?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
He looked at me.
"You're afraid."
"Yes."
"Go anyway."
He laughed quietly.
"Therapy has made you unbearable."
"I'm in therapy too."
His eyebrows lifted.
"You are?"
"Don't look so surprised."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I thought you were perfect."
I stared.
He smiled faintly.
"That's part of my problem."
I almost laughed.
Then became serious.
"You don't need to forgive her."
"I know."
"You don't even need to continue contact."
"I know."
"But if you've built your entire life around what happened, maybe you deserve the truth."
Roman considered that.
Then nodded.
"Will you come?"
The question shocked me.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"No."
His face fell.
I continued.
"This is yours."
"I don't want to do it alone."
There was the sentence.
The one Roman Carter almost never allowed himself to say.
I didn't want to punish vulnerability.
But I also couldn't become his emotional support simply because he finally asked.
"Take Dr. Levin."
Roman nodded.
"Okay."
A week later, he flew to Oregon.
He didn't tell me details immediately.
When he returned for Evelyn's visit, his eyes looked swollen.
"How was it?"
He sat on the couch.
"Bad."
I waited.
"And good."
I waited more.
"My father lied."
Of course.
"What about?"
"Everything."
Roman's mother, Marianne, had tried to take him.
She had filed for custody.
Arthur Carter buried her in litigation.
Froze accounts.
Threatened her employer.
Used private investigators.
When she tried to remove Roman from school one afternoon, Arthur obtained an emergency order claiming she was unstable.
"Was she?"
"She had depression."
"That's not the same."
"I know."
Roman looked at his hands.
"Eventually she had a breakdown. Her lawyer told her she might lose every supervised visit if she kept fighting."
"So she left."
"Yes."
"Why didn't she come back when you were older?"
"Shame. Addiction. Fear."
He swallowed.
"Then another marriage. More shame."
"Did she apologize?"
"Yes."
"Did it help?"
"No."
"Did you forgive her?"
"No."
"Will you see her again?"
Roman looked toward Evelyn.
"Yes."
That surprised me.
"Why?"
"Because I spent thirty years believing people leave because they stop loving you."
My eyes filled.
"And?"
"Sometimes they leave because they're broken."
He looked at me.
"That doesn't make the leaving hurt less."
No.
It didn't.
"But maybe it means I don't have to spend the rest of my life preventing it."
Something inside me shifted again.
That night, after Roman left, I opened the drawer.
The divorce papers waited.
I took them out.
I read every page.
Then I signed.
My hand shook.
I cried.
Not because I had stopped loving him.
Because I hadn't.
The next morning, I gave them to Elena.
She looked surprised.
"You're sure?"
"No."
"That's not reassuring."
I laughed through tears.
"I'm sure our old marriage has to end."
That was different.
Elena studied me.
"And the future?"
"I don't know."
She nodded.
"That's allowed."
Roman received the signed papers three days later.
He called.
I answered.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
"I got them," he said.
"I know."
"So that's it."
"For our marriage, yes."
He breathed slowly.
"Okay."
I closed my eyes.
He didn't beg.
Didn't threaten.
Didn't bargain.
That hurt more than I expected.
"Roman."
"Yeah?"
"I need you to understand something."
"I'm listening."
"I didn't sign because I hate you."
His breath caught.
"I signed because if there is ever anything between us again, it can't be built on what we had."
Long silence.
Then: "I understand."
"Do you?"
"No."
A small laugh escaped me.
"But I want to."
The divorce was finalized quietly in May.
No press.
No courtroom fight.
No scandal beyond business pages speculating about why the Carter estate was for sale.
Roman moved into a modest-for-him apartment downtown.
I stayed in Evanston.
Evelyn learned to roll over.
Then laugh.
Roman attended therapy.
I attended mine.
We became something neither of us had expected.
Not husband and wife.
Not enemies.
Parents.
And perhaps friends.
Then, in June, Marcus Vale was arrested in Toronto.
The missing money was recovered.
Investigators cleared Roman of wrongdoing.
Carter Holdings' board called him.
They wanted him back.
The Roman I married would have accepted before the sentence ended.
This Roman asked for forty-eight hours.
Then he came to my house.
"I need to decide something."
"About the company?"
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
He looked at me as if the question were written in a foreign language.
"No one has asked me that."
"Then answer."
Roman stared toward the yard where Evelyn slept in a stroller beneath the shade.
"I don't know."
I smiled.
"Good."
"Why is that good?"
"Because now you get to find out."
He looked at me.
And for the first time, Roman Carter had an entire future in front of him that wasn't already scheduled.
Neither of us knew that the decision he made next would nearly cost him everything again.
May you like
This time, however, he would lose it for a completely different reason.
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