Page 96 of Letters From Victor

Edith drained her bourbon in one long, unladylike gulp. “It’s true that I know things you don’t,” she said. “Whether you want to hear them is another matter.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I need to understand, Edith. I’ve gone my whole life not knowing why she treated me like an unwanted guest in my own family. I have no idea what I did or didn’t do. I followed every rule, crossed every T, dotted every I, wore the right clothes, attended the right events, got into the right school, smiled for the camera, smiled when I was dying inside. And for what?” My voice cracked, then climbed to an angry crescendo. “The love of a mother that never came, no matter how perfect I was?”

Edith studied me with her piercing hazel eyes that always saw more than they let on. “Barbara, some secrets are buried for a reason. Are you sure you want to open this Pandora’s box?”

I sat back and crossed my arms. “What choice do I have? Edith, if you don’t tell me, I’ll never understand why she was so cold. I’ll never understand why she treated me like…like a bad smell that wouldn’t go away.”

Edith’s gaze softened, and for a moment, I thought she might take me in her arms as she had so many times before when I was inconsolable. Instead, she reached for the untouched glass in front of me and downed its contents in a single, desperate pull.

“Fine,” she said, her voice rough from the bourbon. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

My heart pounded.

“Mother treated you like an unwanted guest because to her…that’s exactly what you were.” Edith spoke without apology. “She took you in out of obligation, not out of love.”

A chill ran through me. “Took me in? What the hell does that mean?”

Edith’s eyes shot wide open. I rarely swore, and the rogue expletive must have caught her off guard. But I didn’t care. Not now.

When she didn’t answer, my mind raced through possibilities. “What, like a foundling?” My thoughts settled on my father—more absent than present, but always warm when he was around. “Was I Daddy’s lovechild that Mother had to raise?”

A tight, humorless chuckle bounced off her lips.

“Jesus, Edith. Just tell me!”

She inhaled sharply. “You aremydaughter, Barbara. Not Agatha’s.” The words struck like a hammer. “I am your real mother.”

The room tilted as Edith’s confession hit me, and for a moment, I thought I might slide off the sofa and onto the floor. I gripped the armrest to steady myself.

“You’re my…what?”

“Mother and Daddy thought it best to cover the whole thing up,” she continued. “I was only sixteen and, of course, unmarried. Forget doing what’s right—they couldn’t have the scandal. They said they were doing it for my benefit—to give me a chance in life. But I didn’t buy that for a minute. The scandal would have ruined the family, or worse—Daddy’s political career. I had no say in the matter. They sent me away, and when you were born, they took you from me and raised you as their own. They told everyone you were Agatha’s change-of-life baby.”

I stared at her, speechless. This was absurd. This was fiction.

“Do you understand now?” Edith pressed. “The coldness you felt from Agatha—it wasn’t because she didn’t love you. It wasbecause shecouldn’tlove you the way a real mother would. She played her part as best she could, but in the end, that’s all it ever was—a part.”

Every memory I had twisted and warped in my mind.

I could taste the bourbon in the air, hot and acrid. Edith rose unsteadily and walked back to the bar. She fumbled with the bottle, her hands less sure than before. I remembered them as steady as a surgeon’s when she taught me to sew, to bake, to drive. All the things a mother teaches a daughter.

She poured herself another glass, not bothering to ask if I wanted one this time. She knew I wouldn’t take it. She knew everything, it seemed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice smaller now, like a child’s.

Edith turned slowly, glass in hand, but didn’t move from the bar. “How could I? That was the arrangement. If I told you the truth, it would have destroyed everything.” She took a long sip of her third bourbon. “They hoped you’d never question it. That you’d never have to.”

I couldn’t breathe. The air in the room was stifled with half-truths and unshed tears. My skin prickled with the heat of anger and the cold of realization.

“So now what?” I asked, the words bitter on my tongue. “Do I start calling you Mom?”

Edith rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re still the same people with the same lives. Yes, you know the truth now. But it doesn’t change a damn thing.”

I stood, the room swaying around me like a ship in a storm. “I need to go.”

“Barbara, sit. We’re not finished.”

I paused, one hand on the back of the sofa, the other clutching my purse like a life preserver.

---