Page 49 of Zorro

Everly looked down. Her hands were clenched. She hadn’t realized.

“Did Rob…ever talk to you…about me?” Madeline’s pause was just long enough. “Madeline.” Her voice cracked like dry earth. “Please. He’s dead, but I feel he’s haunting us both.”

Madeline closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, something in her had changed. Resignation, maybe. Or the end of restraint.

“Yes, he complained all the time about you. He resented you, Everly. Bitterly,” she said softly, the words costing her. Everly blinked. Madeline hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you. But it just got worse and worse.”

The words landed like stones. Small ones. Sharp. Too familiar. Everly sank onto the edge of the velvet chaise, her spine straight but brittle. “He was going to divorce me. Wasn‘t he?”

“Everly—”

“Wasn’t he? That’s why he took the single contract for Afghanistan. That’s why he acted so distant and cruel before he left.” She closed her eyes. “That’s why…Oh, God. He didn’t tell me about the danger, the evacuation. He wanted me to die in that explosion.”

Madeline covered her mouth and looked away, tears squeezed out of her eyes, and her breath rushed out. “I can’t say the thought didn’t occur to me when you told me you didn’t know.” She shook her head. “Why did you follow him? Why put yourself through his indifference?”

“I don’t know. I always try…try to be the best I can be. I tried in our marriage. It was supposed to be about companionship, partnership, mutual interests, and service.”

Madeline looked like she was the one about to collapse this time. She sat there for a moment, anguish contorting her lovely features. “Yes, he was going to divorce you. He said he was sorry he ever married you.” Madeline exhaled, then crossed to the small table near the window, poured tea into two cups even though only one of them would be touched. “He didn’t think you’d come. He thought you’d refuse.”

“I almost did.”

“I know.” Madeline walked back and set the tea down untouched. Then she sat beside her. “Rob wasn’t…” She paused, hands clasped tight in her lap. “He wasn’t just difficult, Ev. He was…threatened.”

Everly turned her head slowly.

Madeline’s eyes shimmered, but not with pity. Just exhaustion and something else…guilt.

“You outpaced him, and he knew it. Your publications had higher citations. Your methods were more innovative. Your name carried more weight in trauma reform circles than his ever did. But instead of being proud of you…he started resenting you.”

A breath caught. Everly’s, maybe. Or the room’s.

“He would wait until after you left the room to make corrections,” Madeline continued, her voice lower now. “Would revise papers where your names were listed together. Remove references you added. Dismiss your research in private conversations. Some of us noticed. Some of us…tried not to.”

Everly didn’t move. Couldn’t. The calm had fractured.

“That contract for Afghanistan? They wanted you, Everly. He was an afterthought,” Madeline said slowly. “He was incensed. I’ve never seen him so apoplectic. That’s when he decided on divorce.”

Everly flinched like she'd been struck.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Madeline swallowed. “I was afraid. I thought…if I told you, I’d be tearing down the man you were still grieving.”

“Was I?” Everly whispered, more to herself than anything. “Grieving him? Or grieving what I thought he was?”

Madeline reached out, didn’t touch her, just let her hand hover near her arm.

“He said you were too good for anyone to love.”

She gasped. “He said that to you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t mean purity or goodness. He meant competence like no man could survive under your shadow.” Madeline, composed, brilliant, loyal Madeline, seemed to fold in on herself. A woman who had kept too many secrets. Too many lies wrapped in the guise of respect. “There’s something else,” she said quietly. “It’s been a terrible weight on my conscience….”

Everly looked at her then. Really looked.

“I was sleeping with him,” Madeline said. “Less than two months after the wedding. I won’t insult you by asking for your forgiveness. I’ll understand if you never want to see me or talk to me again.”

The pain in her didn’t flare. It just settled like dust after collapse. Her vision didn’t blur. It sharpened.

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