I protected her from so much, Stephen. From my family. From the clubs. From the violence. From the darkness that runs in our blood.
I can’t protect her from this. From watching me die.
But I can protect her from the truth.
I have to.
It’s the last thing I can do for her. The last gift I can give.
So please. Please, Stephen. When you read this, when you know everything, when you see all the ways I failed, don’t tell her.
Let her grieve the mother she thought she had.
Not the woman I really was.
I’m not asking you to forgive me, Stephen. What I did is unforgivable. I know that. I’ve known it for years. I’ve carried that knowledge like a stone in my chest, growing heavier with every passing day.
Some nights I can barely breathe under the weight of it.
I am asking you to be better than me. I’m asking you not to hate me. And I am begging you not to hurt our daughter because you’re angry with me. Angry with what I did.
Please, Stephen.
Please let her remember me as someone who loved her. Who tried. Who maybe wasn’t perfect, but who wanted better for her.
Let her remember me as her mother.
Please don’t tell her the truth.
I can’t take any of it back. I can’t undo the choices I made or the things I did. I can only tell you that every single decision, every compromise, every line Icrossed, every time I let myself become something I swore I’d never be, it was all to keep our daughter safe.
I know that doesn’t make it right. I know it doesn’t excuse anything. But it’s the truth.
And the truth is all I have left to give you now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Popeye
Christina’s cryptic words kept running through my head. I’d just set the journal down, needing a break from the implication of what she said, when the couple entered the bakery.
“Hello, Trudy,” the woman said, her voice a little too delighted.
My eyes snapped to Trudy, and I saw the tension in her body, her voice tight as she replied, “Hello, Edith. What can I get you two?”
“We need to place an order for a cake.”
“Alright,” Trudy said, grabbing a pad off the counter behind me. “Is this for an occasion?”
The man, who looked to be about my age, or maybe older, glanced away as if he were uncomfortable leaving Edith to answer, “It’s our ten-year anniversary. Harold’s kids wanted us to have a party. They’ve been just so happy to have me in their lives, they want to celebrate.”
“Well, congratulations.”
I stood up, the journal and whatever confessions Christina wanted to saddle me with forgotten as I quietly made my way toward the woman I’d been fucking panting over for the past six months.
“You’ll come, of course.” Edith’s voice was smug.
“What?” Trudy’s focus was on the couple; she didn’t see me moving in her direction.
