handed the phone to Miles, who took it without comment. He flipped it around and stared at the picture with a frown of concentration.
“She’s pretty cute,” he said, flashing Charity a grin. “She has your eyes.”
“We all have my mom’s coloring; her mother—our ouma—was a mixed-race woman from the Cape Flats. And our oupa was a second-generation Lebanese man. Faith and I inherited our dad’s height. But his blond hair and hazel eyes didn’t stand a chance against our mom’s dominant genes.” She smiled fondly as she thought of her parents. She missed them so much, and it felt wonderful to talk about them. “Because they faced so much discrimination after their marriage during the later apartheid era, they moved to Canada for a few years. But they returned just before the first democratic election. I was about four when we moved back. Faith was two. I have only the vaguest recollection of it.”
“Have you seen any of your family in the last three years?” he asked, after handing her phone back.
Charity swallowed and ran a finger over her niece’s image.
“No. I speak with them, FaceTime sometimes…Faith wants me to come to Gracie’s sixth birthday party.”
“You should go.”
“I can’t.”
“Charity…”
“Miles we’ve known each other for about a minute,” she pointed out shortly, pocketing her phone, before levelling a blistering glare at him. “You don’t get to have an opinion about this, okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
His softly spoken apology took the wind out of her sails and robbed her of the fuel she needed to stoke her fiery indignation. She sagged and buried her face in her palms taking a moment to compose herself.
He didn’t say another word, merely sat quietly and waited for her to speak.
“No. I’m the one who’s sorry, Miles.” She dropped her hands and met his eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I get a little defensive. My family has been so hurt and confused by all of this. But I find it hard to be around them and their sympathy. They think I’m grieving for him. And how do I explain to them that I would never mourn him, that I don’t miss him, and that I’m so damned grateful to be free of him?”
She made a despairing sound and wiped at her wet eyes.
“I didn’t want to talk about him tonight. I don’t want to talk about him ever.”
He was silent for a long, long moment after her outburst, but when he eventually spoke, the words emerged slowly. As if he were weighing every syllable for fear saying the wrong thing. “I think…and I’m not an expert. And I know it’s none of my business. But I think that perhaps if you did speak of him, to someone—anyone—it would help you find some clarity and possibly some closure. Or at the very least it’ll start the healing process on the still festering wound that was your marriage.”
“Speak to you, you mean?”
“No, sweetheart.” His voice was so painfully gentle it just about broke her heart. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But you do have to tell someone. If not your parents or your sister, then a therapist.”
“I think for me, the worst of it all, was that he stripped me of my self-worth, my self-confidence, my dignity…and I allowed it.”
“Charity you’ve clearly lived through, and survived, hell. I can tell you that I think you’re an amazing woman. The strongest, most capable, and interesting woman I’ve ever met. But until you look in a mirror and believe those things about yourself, my words are meaningless. And because that fucking bastard has controlled your life for so long, I know how hard it must be for you to do so. You’re the only one now who can take that power away from him.”
Tears had been silently streaming from her eyes throughout his little speech. Logically and emotionally, she knew that his words were true. But Blaine had kept her imprisoned in a cage of fear and intimidation for so long, that even now, years after the door had been left open and unlocked, she was too terrified to step foot outside of those familiar confines.
She had fled, sure, but she had taken her cozy cage with her. She had painted it, decorated it, and deceived herself into believing that the bars weren’t there. Fooled herself into thinking that she was free. But she wasn’t. She was still in the cage Blaine had put her in.
And she was only now beginning to recognize that fact.
She had allowed her