Too Late, I'm Done Crying

ron'

lways smelled like coffee and old mone

ace, both hands folded over her leather folder like a judge about to read a sentence. Six members of mana

grove said, clearing his throat. "T

to discuss?" I asked,

lower her voice. "The board needs someone to stand

ars, in every way a mother can, at dinners, at weddings, in the car, over the phone at midn

m knew was that

had learned early that love shown in front of my mother became a target. When I held Isolde's hand at a family dinner, my mother found something wrong with her cooking for months. When I praised her, the insults double

ter, the fix

nly about an heir. The company needs visibility. A wife who is famous, someone the public already ador

was thinking, and I realized

ng has end

ed. "What did

ting has

ard it hit the wall. Nobody spoke a

irritated me. The soft music. The polished brass. My own reflection in the mirrored wall, ja

would be home for dinner, and I said I did not know, and she said she would cook anyway

ened on the

h a slim black folder under his arm. He was a quiet man,

I asked, taking th

nstructed. Her settlement

. I had made sure the terms were generous. More than genero

nk y

rning. The door lifted, and Nyx Sinclair stepped out in a white dress and dark glasses, hair falling over one

beautifu

slid her glasses

t. Let

felt like carrying

r, as if she were asking the time. I said yes because Camille had said the exposure would help. Since then she tagged me in everything. Her videos, her stories, her

ow. I watched the city thin into the long road that led home, to the house with the wh

quiet,"

think

ut h

it, honestly. I held it in the side mirror's reflection until it looked natural. Wide,

it. That was t

I smelled something before the engine even cut off

ned before I

and her eyes were bright, and there was a smile on her face that was meant for someone w

cooked

lk past Nyx, past the folder, past everything, and put my arms

ned on Nyx's waist, an

he looked at my face and at the woman beside me. I had rehearsed that momen

out of the envelop

gn

her stomach, a small, quiet motion, like a woman steadying herself again

was how I was goin

ruth. Nyx kissed my cheek and curled her arm around my neck, and Iso

d not deserve me, and I

same handwriting I used to find on little notes in my coat. She dropped t

affron Cole. You

my mother smiles at waiters. It was the o

tting in a long bar of white sun and the so

e signed papers, the candles stil

along my tie, her head tilted, her eyes sear

finally left you,

. But inside me, I d