Silence greets me from the other end. I’m about to repeat her name when she clears the thick emotion from her throat. That’s all it takes for me to realize she’s spoken to Dad. In some ways, it’s a relief that I won’t have to break the news to her.
“Mom? Are you all right?”
Alyssa waves a hand in front of my face. When I glance at her, she mouths, “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
Eyes filling with concern, she nods and points to the fine arts building on the horizon. “I need to go.”
I wave as she takes off. Even though my one o’clock class starts in less than five minutes, I head toward a bench situated under a tree before settling on it. There’s no way I can push off this conversation until later.
When the line remains silent, I say, “Mom, talk to me.”
She sniffles. “Have you spoken to your father?”
I don’t want to lie, but I don’t necessarily want to admit the truth either. It seems like it would only make matters worse.
“No,” I wince and force the fib from my lips, “not recently.”
Tears clog her voice, and it makes me furious all over again that Dad has inflicted so much pain. Mom doesn’t deserve this. If there’s any kind of silver lining to be found in this situation, it’s that they can start fresh and repair the damage to their marriage. Maybe even be stronger for it.
“He left.” A sob breaks free from her. “He packed his bags last night and walked out.”
Shock crashes over me like a wave as I stare sightlessly at the students bustling across campus.
When I remain silent, she says, “Mia? Did you hear me?”
It takes effort to shake myself from the mental fog that has descended. “Yes, I heard.”
She cries quietly on the other end of the phone and my heart breaks all over again. There’s nothing I can say or do to comfort her. Rage rushes through every part of my body.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers.
“I’m so sorry.” It takes effort to keep my voice level and not curse his name. “Did he say why he was leaving?”
The sound of her tears falls faster. “He’s in love with someone else.” Disbelief and confusion drip from every word. “He said our marriage has been over for a while.”
It’s as if the air has been knocked from my lungs and I can’t breathe. I can only sit on the bench gasping as people walk by laughing and chattering, oblivious that my world has imploded
Is he really walking away from us?
It seems impossible.
“Do you want me to come home?” I ask. “I could leave after my next class and stay the night.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath before blowing it out. “I appreciate the offer, sweetie, but you need to stay there. It’s important that you focus on your classes.”
I snort out a laugh, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to do that.
“Are you going to talk to him? What about seeing a counselor?” I pause before adding in a hopeful tone, “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
“I have no idea what I’m going to do.” Bitterness gathers in her voice. “But if he doesn’t want to be married to me, then I damn well don’t want him back.”
I rub my temple and consider the next step. “It might be a good idea to talk with a lawyer and get some legal advice.”
“Oh.” A heavy silence falls over us. “Yeah…maybe I’ll do that.”
At a loss for words, I say, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Me, too, sweetie. Your dad was right about one thing. Nothing has been the same since Brianna died.” Grief and sadness fill her voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised by this, but I am.”
It’s true that nothing has been the same for our family. We pretended to pick up the pieces of our lives and move forward, but that was a façade. Instead of dealing with the pain of her loss, we buried it. Dad delved into work and started an affair while Mom drank too much and shopped.
And me?
I set out to be the perfect child so they wouldn’t miss the one they lost. I tried to shine, as if that would be enough to overshadow her death.
In hindsight, it sounds stupid.
How could that possibly fill the void Brianna left behind?
My sister died seven years ago, and sometimes it feels like the wounds are as fresh and painful as when it happened. We’ve all been tiptoeing around our grief instead of facing it head on.
“Call if you need anything, Mom. I can come home anytime.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”
We disconnect and I stay seated on the bench, staring at the phone in my hand.
“Mia?”
I glance up only to find Beck staring at me. His brows are drawn together as if he can’t figure out what I’m doing. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”