Page 195 of Bride By Coronation

I scoff. "Do I really need to spell it out?"

"Yes. So tell me."

My insides quiver as well as my voice, "I-I don't know how you can sit here and be so strong after what they did to you." Flashbacks of the video pop into my mind.

Mom's face hardens a bit. She declares, "I had a lot of therapy, Fiona. And there's no point living in the past. We can't do things over again. We can only move forward."

I choke out, "I married the son of the man who...who..." I turn away, unable to say the word.

She grips my chin, tilting my face back to hers so I can't avoid her. Sympathy is written across her features. She firmly declares, "Kirill didn't harm me. Nor has he harmed you. It's not his fault what happened, so you need to determine what exactly you're blaming him for."

"He knew and didn't tell me!"

She raises a brow at me.

"He should have told me," I insist.

Mom takes a deep breath and releases it. "I don't know, Fiona. I never wanted you or Sean to know about it, but now you do. As your mother, I also tried to protect you by keeping you in the dark. So maybe you should stop talking to me too."

I gape at her.

She points at me, asserting, "Sounds ridiculous, right?"

I ponder her question.

She asks, "Do you think knowing about it makes it better?"

I think further, opening my mouth and then shutting it. I look away, shaking my head, confessing, "I don't know."

"In my eyes, you and Sean knowing makes it worse. It doesn't erase the facts or make anyone feel any better. Now, my children have another ache in their hearts. So I don't blame Kirill for not telling you. I respect him for it. And it's not fair to blame him for what his father did."

I don't look at her, trying to get past the betrayal I feel but unsure how do it.

Mom orders, "Look at me."

I turn toward her.

She holds an envelope in front of me. My name is scrawled on the front in Kirill's handwriting.

My heart beats faster.

She lowers her voice, asking, "Don't you think it's time you read his letters?"

My heart squeezes as I stare at the envelope. She's given me one every day, but they're in my desk drawer. I can't open them.

"Take it, Fiona. You need to read this and the others. I don't know what's in them, but he comes here every day—in pain and full of apologies—with a new one. You're only making things worse, and you can't stop communicating with your husband, especially if you're having his baby," she scolds.

"He lied to me," I declare.

She jerks her head back. "How? Tell me how he lied to you."

"He—" I stop.

Mom softens her tone. "He didn't lie to you. He didn't tell you something so you wouldn't be hurt. There's a difference. Now, I suggest you take a pregnancy test and read the letters your husband has sent you."

My eyes fill with more tears.

She tilts her head, stating, "You can't heal without communication." She puts the letter on my lap and rises.

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