Mr. Smithfield - Louise Bay Page 0,87

times. But what would I say? How would I explain myself?” she said. “I’d left my child. It’s the ultimate crime for a mother.” She pulled her hand from mine and took a sip of the water that had appeared on our table without our noticing. I waited as she swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to push away the obvious upset. “I loved you both, yet I abandoned you.” She shook her head. “I have to live with myself for doing that.”

She glanced down at the menu, clearly not trying to decide on her order. “Every time I thought about it, I ran further away in the hope that my shame would be left behind, but of course it followed me around and just got bigger. I figured out that the only way it wouldn’t just continue to grow and eventually eat me alive, was to turn around and face what I’d done.”

“You’re back to face the shame of leaving?” I asked. Was she asking me for absolution? She couldn’t know me very well if she was.

She shook her head. “No, I had a lot of therapy to handle the shame. I’m back because I don’t want to compound the mistakes I’ve made by staying away. I did a terrible thing to you both, but I don’t want that to be the end. I don’t want to walk away and never return. I want to move forward. Be Bethany’s mother. And map out a new relationship with you.”

I shook my head. Autumn would want me to agree and that would be that. But she didn’t understand the scar Penelope’s leaving had created.

She put up her hand to stop me from speaking. “Before you say anything, I know we can’t go backward. That’s not what I’m asking. Whatever happens in the future—whatever relationship we manage to salvage—I understand that it won’t be what we had.”

Whatever we’d had hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t stopped our family from falling apart.

“I know I’m asking a lot. And I understand it’s difficult for you to trust me after what I did. But I’m patient.”

It would have been far easier if Penelope had tried to excuse what she’d done, if she’d demanded that I let her back into Bethany’s life or if she’d lacked remorse. But the way she’d explained things, it painted the situation in an entirely different light. The anger and bitterness I had toward Penelope seeped away until I was left with nothing but sadness. For her. For Bethany. And for me.

I nodded. “Thank you for telling me this. I’m sorry . . . sorry for not noticing at the time. For not coming after you. And for hating you for all these years.”

She smiled at my confession. “I hated me too,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “And some of that feeling still lingers.”

I drew in a breath and pushed back my shoulders. Penelope wasn’t a monster, and I wasn’t about to keep her in a cage, protecting Bethany from someone who cared for her. There was no going back. We could only move forward. “We should tell Bethany that you’re her mother.”

A guttural sob broke from Penelope’s throat and she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

It was the last thing I’d expected to come out of this lunch. I’d expected to be going through the motions so I could tell myself I’d done what Autumn had asked. Autumn couldn’t have known Penelope’s reasons for leaving and staying away, but she knew enough to understand that I should hear Penelope out. She was the wisest woman I knew.

“You should come to dinner later in the week,” I said. “We can tell her together.”

“You’re a good man, Gabriel.”

“I’m going to ask you for something in return.”

“Anything,” she asked, her eyes brightening.

“Don’t take her from me, Penelope. I can’t give her up.” My jaw tightened and my fists clenched like I was ready to fight anyone who would even think about taking my daughter from me.

“Never,” she replied, shaking her head. “I promise.”

I reached across the table and put my hand over hers and my chest loosened at the softness of her familiar skin. We had to find a way forward. For Bethany and for ourselves. We had to move on from the hatred and anger, the shame and guilt. Contrary to everything I’d taught myself to believe, we all deserved a second chance.

Thirty-Nine

Autumn

As I looked up at the bulging, undulating steps, it struck me. “It’s like Barcelona is the younger, wayward