Chapter 8 - Isabella’s Choice
Isabella asked to meet me three weeks later.
She suggested a quiet café near the courthouse. I agreed, but only after
Rachel confirmed that the meeting would not affect the legal process and
that I could bring someone with me.
I arrived with my mother.
Isabella was already seated near the window. She wore no engagement
ring. Her hair was tied back, and she looked as if she had not slept
well.
She stood when she saw me.
“Thank you for coming.”
I sat opposite her.
“Tell me what you wanted to say.”
She folded her hands.
“I ended the engagement.”
I did not answer.
“I know that doesn’t change what I did,” she continued. “But I want you
to know I will not marry him. I have also given Rachel every email,
message, and document Patrick sent me.”
“Why?”
“Because I finally understand that I helped him lie to a child.”
My mother looked at her carefully.
Isabella glanced toward the window.
“Patrick told me you had left him. He said you had moved in with your
mother and didn’t want Sophie because she needed more care than you
could manage. He told me he was trying to protect her from being
disappointed.”
“He told you I abandoned my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him.”
“I did.”
I let the silence sit.
Isabella took a breath.
“There is something else. The night before the wedding, Patrick asked me
to sign a statement confirming that I would be responsible for Sophie’s
school and medical arrangements after the marriage. He said it was a
formality. I signed it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where is it?”
“I gave the original to Rachel. She said it doesn’t make me her
guardian, but it may help explain what Patrick intended.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect Sophie to want to see
me. But I would like to apologize to her properly one day, if she asks.”
I thought about Sophie’s frightened hands beneath the pink dress.
“An apology is not something you get to schedule. If she wants to speak
to you, I will support that. If she doesn’t, you have to accept it.”
“I will.”
My mother shifted in her chair.
“Why did you marry him so quickly?”
Isabella looked down.
“He told me he was afraid of losing me. He said his family would never
accept someone who wasn’t already part of their world. He wanted the
wedding at the mansion because he said it would prove I belonged.”
She laughed once, bitterly.
“I thought he was romantic. He was arranging witnesses.”
I looked at her.
“Did he ever talk about the house?”
“Yes. He said the house would be in my name, but that the money came
from a company he owned. I asked whether the company had any debt. He
said no.”
“And you didn’t see the mortgage?”
“He never showed me the full file.”
I nodded slowly.
“I wish you had asked more questions.”
“So do I.”
She reached into her bag and removed a small velvet box.
Inside was the engagement ring.
“I don’t want to keep it.”
I pushed the box back.
“That’s yours to deal with.”
“I don’t want anything that came from him.”
“Then sell it. Donate it. Put it in a drawer. But don’t make me
responsible for what you do with it.”
She nodded and closed the box.
Before we left, Isabella asked one final question.
“Do you think Sophie will ever understand that I didn’t mean to hurt
her?”
I considered it.
“Maybe. But understanding isn’t the same as trusting you. Trust takes
time.”
“I know.”
When I returned home, Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table drawing a
picture of the three of us: herself, me, and my mother. She had drawn
the rabbit beside her.
I told her I had met Isabella.
She looked up.
Did she ask to see me?
“She said she would like to apologize if you ever want that.”
Sophie thought about it.
Then she signed, Not yet.
“That’s okay.”
She returned to her drawing.
I watched her for a moment.
She was still a child. She should have been worrying about spelling
tests and birthday parties, not whether adults would tell the truth.
I promised myself that the rest of her childhood would belong to her.
Not to Patrick.
Not to Isabella.
May you like
Not to the people who had watched the wedding and mistaken silence for
consent.
