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Because…
He won’t give with me.
But he can’t withstand her.
However, in all my plotting, I don’t take our daughter into account.
She shifts in the bed next to me, voice as groggy as I know mine would have been a couple of minutes ago. “Grandma?”
Stefan’s voice—in the middle of telling Diane to drop it—cuts off and there’s a long blip of silence before Diane speaks, leaning over the bed (presumably, considering I’m still faking being asleep, but the mattress shakes, the bed shifts slightly). “I’m here, honey,” she whispers. “I’ve brought you a change of clothes and?—”
Right.
I’ve had enough pretending.
Mostly because my back is killing me, but also because their conversation is moving to normal volume and continuing to fake unconsciousness is going to get ridiculous.
I sigh quietly, roll my shoulders and neck then slowly push up, blinking at Diane—who smiles at me, a smile that freezes, eyes sharpening when she studies me.
Also, right.
Likely not fooling her with my pretending.
“Hey,” I say softly, getting to my feet with a wince and rounding the bed to pull her into a hug. “You didn’t have to come by.”
“Stefan mentioned Rox had spilled on her clothes”—the ones I’d carefully changed her into in anticipation of blowing this popsicle joint—“so I figured that I would bring some clean ones by.”
Thankfully, Mr. Fluffernut had been spared the indignity of getting stained with strawberry Jell-O.
“That was nice of you,” I tell her.
“Anything for my granddaughter.” She leans in, kisses my cheek, murmurs for my ears only, “Anything for you.” A quick squeeze and then she releases me, stepping back and clapping her hands together. “Now, Roxie girl, why don’t I keep Mr. Fluffernut safe while you and Mom get changed into clean clothes?”
“Okay, Nana,” Roxie says, passing over the stuffed cat.
I reach for Rox, but Stefan beats me to it, leaning in, scooping her up and carefully setting her on her feet. I take hold of her arm, making sure she doesn’t fall, but the contact brings Stefan and my fingers into contact.
Sparks of sensation shooting up my arm.
He drops his hold like he’s been burned, steps back.
And I…
Well, I don’t know what the fuck is up with him, with his secrets, with whatever he’s hiding that Diane is pushing him to tell me, but he won’t…
But I meant what I thought earlier.
I’m done with this, done with the turmoil and hurt and feeling like I’m not good enough—or like I’ve made a grave mistake but can’t begin to comprehend how to fix it.
And…I’m done with the guilt.
With taking full responsibility for having done wrong.
This isn’t just me.
We didn’t fall apart after more than a decade together solely because of my actions.
Stefan is responsible too.
