“Then what does it feel like?”
Anne struggled for a moment before answering honestly, “Like I was finally allowed to want something again, only to realize that wanting it means I can lose it.”
“Then it seems like a fear you already carried long before you met him. He has simply given it a place to attach itself,” her mother said.
Anne’s throat tightened. “I trusted him.”
“Yes.” Her mother nodded. “And that is the part that hurts the most.”
Anne froze, wondering how her mother had deciphered that. She wondered if she had made it that obvious, and if she had, she wondered how Dorian had never noticed it. Or maybe he had never cared enough to mention it.
“I cannot go back.”
Her mother nodded once. “Then don’t. I shall speak with my husband, and you will move here permanently.”
Anne frowned slightly. “What if I have made a mistake?”
Her mother studied her for a long moment before answering, “Then you will find out whether he will prove you right or fight to prove you wrong.”
That stayed with Anne longer than anything else said in the room.
Eleanor arrived that afternoon without warning. Anne found her in the garden before she had fully registered the carriage outside, standing near the edge of the path as though she had been there long enough to decide what she intended to say and long enough to decide not to soften it.
“You left him,” Eleanor said immediately. “Anne, I cannot believe that you have?—”
“You did not see what I saw.”
“Your mother has already written to me and told me enough,” Eleanor shot back. “You did not leave because of betrayal alone. You left because you decided that the moment it became real, you could not survive it.”
Anne fell quiet.
Eleanor’s voice softened only slightly, though the anger lingered underneath it. “You do not get to punish yourself for loving someone who made a mistake and call it wisdom.”
Anne’s breath caught, but she did not answer because part of her already knew Eleanor was right, and she did not want to acknowledge it.
They moved into the sitting room, but Eleanor did not sit, pacing for a moment before turning back to her.
“Tell me everything,” she demanded. “From the beginning.”
Anne hesitated. “It will not change anything. I walked into the library. Lady Vivian was there with him, and she kissed him.”
“And what did he do?”
“He did not stop it fast enough.”
A pause followed, where Eleanor exhaled through her nose, as though filing that information away rather than accepting it.
“And then he explained,” Anne continued. “He said she initiated it, that he did not want it. He claims that nothing happened after.”
Eleanor frowned slightly. “And you do not believe him?”
“It is not that I do not believe him,” Anne said quietly. “I have wanted more from him for a long time now, and seeing that made me realize that it will never happen. He does not want to love me, so he will not. He does not think that he is good enough for me, and instead of trying to be better, he is stepping away. I cannot allow myself to accept that.”
“Anne, listen to yourself. You are telling me you walked into a room, saw a man being kissed without warning, and decided that was the end of everything you built together.”
“It was not just that,” Anne protested, sharper now. “It was the hesitation. Isawit.”
Eleanor shook her head earnestly. “You saw fear. You did not see the intention, and you are punishing him for being human at exactly the moment you expected him to be perfect, though you are right about one thing. I do not believe for one second that this is only about Lady Vivian kissing him.”
