Confessions from the Quilting Circle - Maisey Yates Page 0,79

Wendy said. “I blame myself for all of this. I tried to tell you how to live good lives. I tried to guide you into happy marriages. But I don’t know anything about them. I told you that mine was ended by another woman, but that wasn’t true. The truth is, I was never married. I was the other woman.”

Silence settled hard in the house, the only sounds the ticking of the clock and the groaning of the floorboards, as if the house itself was protesting all of this.

“Explain.” It was Anna who said that, her face pale and drawn, her voice thin.

“I was never going to tell you this,” Wendy said. “It never seemed like there was any point. I made up this story to protect you. You have to believe that. And then over the years I sort of forgot that it wasn’t true. Because I told it so many times. Because you would ask me about your father and I would tell you who he was, and I had changed the way it all went. And I repeated it more times than I ever lived the reality of what happened, and it began to seem more real. And I was grateful for that. Because then I could be angry. Because then I could feel justified. Because then I could enjoy the life that I built here with you, because it’s easier to be a victim than it is to be the one who—”

“Just tell us what happened,” Anna said.

“Anna,” Rachel cautioned. “Give mom a moment, she’s upset.”

“I’m upset,” Anna said.

“Should I leave?” Emma asked.

“No,” Wendy said. “You should hear this, too.”

And that was the hardest thing. To let her granddaughter stay. To let her granddaughter be part of this thing that was going to fracture their family, their lives, even more than they already were.

“I was never married to your father,” Wendy said. “I started working for him when I was eighteen years old. I never had a great relationship with my mother, and I was eager to leave home and make a life for myself. So I did. I got an office job, and I felt independent and confident. And I liked my boss. A lot. And he liked me. He was...about twelve years older than I was. And it took some time, but we began a relationship.”

“Meaning you started sleeping with him,” Anna said, pointed and hard. Bitter.

She’d had a hand in creating that hardness. That bitterness. Her own fear had kept her from reaching out to her daughter when she should have.

She had caused all the harm she’d hoped to prevent. Like dammed-up water finding its way around the barrier. Causing damage to places unseen and unguarded.

Eroding that foundation that was made only of sand.

“Yes,” Wendy responded, feeling shame lance her chest. “He was married. And I knew that. But he kept telling me that he loved me, and that she didn’t love him. He told me all about how his marriage was failing, and I found a way to twist and justify it in my head. Because he loved me better, but he was trapped. And he had to figure out a way to not be in that trap. He had to protect his legacy, his work. His money.”

She took in a shuddering breath. “I got pregnant. And he promised that he would leave her. Then he told me it wasn’t possible for a variety of reasons. After I had Rachel, he made me leave my job. But he kept paying for my life. He paid for us to have a little apartment and he would come and visit us.”

Rachel looked pale, stunned. “I remember that,” she said. “I remember him. But not much. He never lived there, did he?”

“No. He never did. And then, he quit seeing us for a while. He said there were reasons... And he couldn’t leave his wife just yet, and he had to go away for a while. But I think what happened was she was getting suspicious. And he couldn’t chance that. He kept paying for the apartment. But I went out and got another job, part-time, so I could keep taking care of you and only have you in day care for some of the time. And then he came back. He came back, and I was weak. And I loved him. And I forgave everything. His absence, that he hadn’t left his wife yet. Everything. That was when I got pregnant with Anna. I