“At least you’re honest about something.”
I could have ended it right there.
Instead, I said,
“We’re not doing this here.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because we’re here for Mark.”
Then I walked away.
I thought silence was kindness.
By that evening, silence had become something else.
Mark’s aunt approached me near the door.
“Was he taking anything that affected his judgment?”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Violet said maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Mark knew exactly what he wanted.”
“I’m only asking.”
“No. You’re asking whether I manipulated my dying husband into something he didn’t want.”
She looked away.
That night, I went directly into Cecelia’s nursery.
I opened my laptop.
Then I plugged in the flash drive.
Mark appeared on the screen.
He looked thinner than I remembered.
“If you’re watching this because you miss me, turn it off.”
I covered my mouth.
“You don’t get to boss me around.”
Mark shifted in his chair.
“I’m serious, Sal.”
Then his expression changed.
“Mom asked me not to donate.”
I leaned closer.
“She asked more than once. Then she asked whether the decision was really mine or yours.”
My stomach dropped.
“I told her it was mine.”
He rubbed his hands over his face.
“She can’t stand knowing strangers might receive something from me after I’m gone.”
He paused.
“I understand why.”
Then he looked directly into the camera.
“But grief doesn’t get to turn you into the villain.”
My breath caught.
“Don’t protect me by letting her hurt you. And don’t let Cecelia grow up thinking her father was too weak to make his own decisions.”
I paused the video.
“You knew.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“You knew she might do this, and you never told me.”
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“I was your wife, Mark. You didn’t have to protect me from everything.”
It was the first time I had been angry with him since he died.
It felt horrible.
It also felt honest.
Two days later, Violet came over carrying an embroidered blanket.
“I’ve been thinking Cecelia should somehow carry Mark’s name.”
I stared at her.
“We already chose her name.”
“She should have something from her father.”
“She doesn’t need his name added to hers to be his daughter.”
Violet glanced toward my stomach.
“Mark told me he changed his mind.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You weren’t part of every conversation we had.”
“Neither were you.”
Her face tightened.
“He kept things from you.”
That hurt.
But it didn’t make her right.
“Mark and I chose Cecelia’s name together.”
“Sally…”
“Go home.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You questioned Mark’s judgment. You’ve encouraged people to question mine. Now you’re trying to rewrite what he wanted for our daughter.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I just lost my son.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know what that feels like.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“And you don’t know what it feels like to lose my husband while carrying the child he will never meet.”
She went quiet.
“We can hurt differently without destroying each other.”
Violet left.
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