different picture of our lives? Would it change the way I felt about her?
“I was sixteen and a fool when I met your father.” She set the glass down but didn’t remove her hand from it. “He’d left Goshawk’s Hollow, gone to the continent for a time, then returned to Trianon.” She turned around, and I did not fail to notice the streaks of damp on her face or the redness of her cheeks. “He was looking for a bit of excitement.” She gestured at herself, flicking her hand up and down. “He found it at the opera house.”
I winced, discomforted about thinking of my parents that way.
“I was certain I was in love. Thought the sun rose and set on him, and that we’d be together forever.” She drained her glass. “My mother warned me otherwise, but I wouldn’t listen. And by seventeen, I was married and pregnant with your brother.” Her lip trembled, and she bit it furiously, trying to keep her emotions under control.
“It was fine, at first. Your father worked in the city, and I worked for the opera company when I wasn’t too big with child.” Her shoulders twitched. “He knew how much I loved singing onstage, and he promised never to keep me from my passion.” One fat tear ran down her face.
“But after your sister arrived, we received word that your grandfather was ill. Your father went back to be with him when he died, and when he returned, everything was different. All he talked about, all he cared about, was that farm. What I wanted wasn’t important anymore.” She shook her head sharply. “He insisted we move to the Hollow, but I refused. I’d grown up in the city. Everyone I knew and cared about was in the city. The thought of leaving made me miserable. I thought he’d come around, that he loved me enough to stay.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I was wrong.”
She was crying now. My mother, who never cried, was snuffling and sobbing. “I wanted to keep you three, but he wouldn’t let me. He convinced me that I couldn’t do it, that we’d be destitute, that my babies would starve.” The words came out between gulps of air, and she wiped a hand under her nose. “My own mother went missing when this was all happening, and everything was madness and misery, and I… I let him take you.”
An oppressive weariness fell upon me, and my mind struggled with how the same story could paint an entirely different picture when told from another point of view. She wasn’t denying that she’d chosen herself and her career over being with us, but now I could see it from her perspective. Could understand how difficult it had been for her.
“It was so hard after you left. My heart was broken, and I had no money. I could barely afford to feed myself, and eventually, I came to believe your father was right. I couldn’t take care of my babies, and you three were better off with him. Better off without me.” A fresh swell of tears stormed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Cécile. You deserved a better mother.” Her eyes met mine. “I do love you, and I always have. I hope you know that.”
I wasn’t blind: I knew she was selfish, but no one was perfect. Everyone had flaws. She’d been put in a situation where there were no easy choices. I well knew how that felt. What it was like knowing there would be horrible consequences no matter what path I took.
“I love you too, Mama.” Rising, I swayed wearily, my feet feeling like lead as I walked over to wrap my arms around her. I was so tired. She guided me back to the settee, and I settled down, feet tucked up and my head on her lap. Her hands gently stroked my hair, and she sang, her voice hitching and catching a bit from crying.
My head was fuzzy and numb, my tongue thick in my mouth. So tired, so tired.
“Where were you, Cécile?” Her voice was soft. “Where were you all those months?”
I wanted to tell her, to trust her, but Tristan’s emotions were growing again in the back of my head. Unease. Everything merged, and I couldn’t tell if he was worried, or whether I was. I shifted, tried to rise, but my limbs felt weak. My mother smoothed my hair down my back and I settled.