Chapter 13
What Martin Knew
Martin had hidden the letter in his desk for seven years.
He said Celia was grieving and Rowan was leaving for university. He said truth had timing. He said their life had been good.
"A good life can still contain theft," Celia replied.
"You compare a letter to the house?"
"I compare the belief behind them. You decide. I adapt. Then you call the adaptation agreement."
He asked whether every compromise would now be retried as a crime. Celia did not want that either. He had cared for her father, packed school lunches and remembered the exact tea she wanted after funerals. Love was present. So was control.
"I need you to leave the house."
Martin stared at her, searching for the label that would explain the separation.
"For how long?"
"Long enough that my answer is not organised around your reaction."
He packed one suitcase. When the door closed, Celia expected liberation.
She heard the refrigerator motor and began to cry over grief that refused a single name.