I went to her house on a Tuesday morning.
Mrs. Crawford's house. The one with the blue shutters and the rosebushes she pruned every spring. I'd helped her plant half of them. I'd spent Thanksgivings in that kitchen. I'd sat on that porch and listened to her talk about Ryland when he was a boy, back when she used to look at me like I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
She opened the door in a cardigan and reading glasses. Her face did something complicated when she saw me.
"Bellamy."
"Hi, Mom."
She didn't move. Didn't open the door wider. Just stood there with one hand on the frame.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
She hesitated. Then stepped back.
I followed her into the living room. She didn't offer coffee. Didn't sit. She just stood by the mantel with her arms crossed, waiting.
I'd practiced this in the car. I'd told myself I wasn't going to beg. I was just going to explain.
"I need you to understand something," I said. "I'm not leaving because I don't love him. I'm leaving because he already left."
She looked at me. Her mouth was a thin line.
"He's supporting a dying girl, Bellamy."
"He's abandoning his wife."
"You're being selfish."
The word landed like a slap.
I stood there. I didn't move. I just looked at her.
"Cadence would never put him in this position," she said quietly.
I felt something inside me go very still.
"No," I said. "She wouldn't. Because she's not his wife."
Mrs. Crawford's jaw tightened. She looked away.
I waited. I don't know what I was waiting for. An apology. A crack in the wall. Some small acknowledgment that I wasn't crazy.
She didn't give me one.
I turned and walked out.
She didn't follow me.
I sat in my car in her driveway for a long time. I watched the rosebushes sway in the wind. I thought about the afternoon we'd planted them. How she'd told me I was the daughter she never had.
I started the car and drove away.
I didn't go back.
---
He texted me Thursday afternoon.
*Can we talk? I want to see you.*
I stared at the message for a full minute.
Then: *When?*
*Tonight. There's a movie at the Paramount at 7. Meet me there?*
I almost said no. I had the word typed out. My thumb hovered over send.
But some stupid, desperate part of me whispered: *What if you're wrong.*
I deleted the no.
*Okay.*
---
It was raining when I got there.
Ryland was waiting under the marquee, hands in his pockets. When he saw me, he smiled. Not the tired smile. Not the guilty one. The real one.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi."
He kissed my cheek. His hand touched the small of my back as we walked inside. He bought popcorn. He asked if I wanted M&Ms. He did all the small things he used to do, back when I didn't have to wonder if he meant them.
We sat in the back row. The theater was half-empty. The lights went down. The previews started.
For twenty minutes, I let myself believe it.
His shoulder was warm against mine. He passed me the popcorn without looking. When something funny happened on screen, I heard him laugh, and it sounded like the old laugh, the one from before.
I thought: *Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he just needed time. Maybe this is the beginning of him coming back.*
Then his phone lit up in his lap.
I saw her name.
Cadence.
He picked it up. Held it to his ear. His whole body changed.
"Hey," he said quietly. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't hear her voice. Just the shape of it. High and breaking.
Ryland stood up.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'm coming. I'll be right there."
He looked down at me. His face was already somewhere else.
"I have to go," he said. "She's—there's an emergency. I'll call you."
He was gone before I could answer.
I sat there in the dark.
The movie kept playing. People laughed. Someone behind me whispered something. The popcorn sat between the empty seat and mine, still warm.
I waited.
I told myself he'd come back. He'd realize. He'd walk back through those doors and sit down and say he was sorry.
I waited through the rest of the movie.
I waited through the credits.
I waited until the lights came up and the ushers started sweeping.
Then I stood up. I walked out into the rain. I didn't have an umbrella. I didn't call a car. I just walked.
My phone buzzed twenty minutes later.
*Sorry. She had a panic attack. Broke a nail and spiraled. I'm staying with her tonight. Talk tomorrow?*
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Rain ran down my face. My hair stuck to my neck. My shoes were soaked through.
I looked at the message.
A broken nail.
I didn't answer.
I just kept walking.
