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“Yes. Yes, he did. I’ve been careful what I’ve said about him because I kept hoping he’d soften toward you, reach out to his only child. But he hasn’t, and he won’t.”
“He never loved me.”
Audrey’s eyes welled, but she shook her head, drank more tea.
“No, I’m so sorry. He never loved either of us. Or just stopped, I’ve never been sure. We weren’t what he wanted, or felt entitled to, I guess. I’d get so nervous when he was about to come home.”
“It showed.”
“Parents can be so blind to what their kids know. I was afraid of him—not physically,” she said quickly. “Not that. Never, ever that. But of disappointing him, which I constantly did. He didn’t really want children, but if he had one, he wanted a son. Then I disappointed him by giving him a daughter. He wanted me to get my tubes tied after you were born. I was twenty-four—barely—and wanted more children. It probably stands as the only thing I absolutely refused him. So he got a vasectomy, and that was that.”
“He’s cruel in his way.”
“No, no, not cruel, Morgan. Just always right in his mind, and rigid with it. I wanted a child, I had a child. As long as you were clean, well-fed, well-mannered, well-educated, he’d fulfilled his duty as he saw it. He didn’t want me to work outside the home, so I didn’t. You and the house, wherever it might be, they were my duties. My performance rating, on his scale, never reached above adequate.
“We weren’t suited,” she concluded. “I should’ve let go, taken you, come home. But that meant failure, so I didn’t. Then he let go. He met someone he wanted, who suited him. So he told me he’d filed for a divorce, laid out the terms. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. Shouldn’t have been brokenhearted, but I was.”
“You cried at night for weeks after we left.”
“What we think our children don’t know,” Audrey murmured. “Still, I didn’t come home. Gram and Pa never liked him. They gave him respect as my husband, as your father, but there was never any genuine affection there on either side. So I didn’t come home, because that meant I’d failed.”
And that, Morgan realized, she understood perfectly. Hadn’t she done the same thing after Rozwell?
“Instead, I dragged you from place to place, telling myself we’d find just the right one and settle. But I was running from that failure.”
“You didn’t fail.”
“It felt like failure. He married again the day after the divorce finalized.”
“I didn’t know that. Not that fast.”
“The very next day. God, that was a slap in the face. Replaced, just that easily, after all the years of trying to be what he wanted. So I kept running, then you went off to college, and I was lost.”
“Mom.”
“It came home to me that I’d needed you more than you’d needed me. You’re so like Gram, baby. Strong, driven, independent, and Jesus, so clever. And somewhere in there, I realized I’d done a really good job raising you, and I’d done it on my own. After a while, I came home, and it wasn’t like failure. It was coming home. And somewhere in there, I stopped loving him and saw things, saw him, more clearly. He failed, just as you said. He failed as a husband, and God knows he failed as a father. And we’re still okay.”
“We’re more than okay. I never gave you enough credit for doing so much alone. I’m giving it to you now.”
“It means a lot.” She squeezed Morgan’s hand. “I’m so proud of you. I can regret not coming home sooner, bringing you here, to your grandparents, giving you that solid foundation, but if I had, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now, like this.”
“I resented the moves.”
“Oh, baby, I know you did.”
“But they helped make me what I am. So no regrets. I thoughtyou were weak, Mom, but what you were and are is incredibly strong. Nash women.”
Audrey leaned over, hugged hard. “For purely selfish reasons, I’m really glad you had sex with Miles.”
On a rolling laugh, Morgan leaned back. “Okay. Why?”
“Because, for whatever reason, it opened this door—one I kept closed too long, and just didn’t know how to open again. Now we’ve walked through it together. And we’re just fine.”
“We’re more than fine. I’m glad I came home. The reasons why are horrible, but I’m glad I came home. Did you keep his name because of me?”
“I… I didn’t want you to have a different last name than your mom.”
“You should let that go, too. Hell, so should I.” The idea struck so right she wondered why she’d never thought of it before.
