Chapter 9 - I FACED FLYNN ONE LAST TIME
Flynn looked older.
Prison does that.
So does reality.
The visit happened behind glass.
I nearly canceled three times.
Ethan never pressured me either way.
Arthur hated the idea.
Selina understood immediately.
“You want to close the door yourself.”
Exactly.
Flynn picked up the phone.
“Mabel.”
I held mine.
For a moment, seven years rushed back.
Our wedding.
Our apartment.
The night we found out I was pregnant.
The hospital.
Then it all became still.
“I’m getting married.”
His expression changed.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because Rose will eventually know.”
He nodded.
“How is she?”
“Happy.”
“Does she know about me?”
“She knows she has a biological father who made very serious choices and cannot be part of her daily life.”
His jaw tightened.
“You make me sound like a monster.”
“I make you sound age-appropriate.”
He looked away.
“Do you show her pictures?”
“One.”
“Which one?”
A photograph from before everything.
Flynn holding newborn clothes the day we bought them.
Before I knew about Selina.
Before the plan.
Before I knew what he was capable of.
“Why that one?”
“Because I don’t want her childhood built around hatred.”
Flynn’s eyes filled.
That surprised me.
“Thank you.”
“This isn’t for you.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then he asked:
“Who is he?”
“Ethan.”
“Rich?”
I almost laughed.
There was Flynn.
Still measuring.
“He has enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t confuse money with identity.”
Flynn looked down.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then he said:
“I read about the housing project.”
Of course he did.
“The Mercer Family Residences?”
“Yes.”
“You named it after your grandfather?”
“And my mother.”
He nodded.
“I always thought you cared too much about those buildings.”
“I cared about what they could do.”
“I didn’t understand that.”
“No.”
He looked through the glass.
“Mabel, do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if I had just asked for a divorce?”
“All the time.”
“We could’ve been normal.”
“Maybe.”
“I could’ve married Selina.”
“She doesn’t want you.”
He almost smiled.
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
At least he was honest.
Then his face changed.
“I was jealous of you.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean before the money.”
I waited.
“You walked into rooms knowing who you were.”
I almost interrupted.
He continued.
“I always felt like I was becoming whatever people wanted.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It was.”
“But it still wasn’t my fault.”
“I know.”
There.
The sentence I had waited years to hear.
Not:
You made me feel small.
Not:
Your money changed me.
Not:
Daniel manipulated me.
Just:
I know.
I felt something release.
Not forgiveness.
Not love.
Weight.
“I hope you become better,” I said.
He looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because Rose shares your blood.”
His eyes filled.
“Will she ever visit?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you tell her I’m sorry?”
“When she’s old enough, I’ll tell her you said that.”
“Mabel.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry too.”
I stood.
He pressed his hand against the glass.
I did not mirror it.
Not to punish him.
Because that story was over.
I walked out.
Outside, Ethan waited in the parking lot.
He did not ask what Flynn said.
He opened the passenger door.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Want coffee?”
“Yes.”
That was all.
Six months later, we married.
Small ceremony.
Thirty-seven guests.
Arthur walked me down the aisle even though I told him I was perfectly capable of walking.
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
Rose scattered flower petals with Hannah.
Half landed in one pile.
Ethan cried first.
I cried second.
During our vows, I did not promise forever as though humans could control time.
I promised honesty.
Respect.
Choice.
And the courage to leave truth visible even when it hurt.
Ethan promised the same.
Selina did not attend.
That would have been weird.
But she sent flowers for Rose.
The card read:
For her mom’s happy day.
I kept it.
Years passed.
Rose became curious.
At six, she asked why Ethan wasn’t her “first dad.”
At eight, she asked why Flynn could not live with us.
At ten, I told her more.
Not everything.
Never more than she could carry.
I did not call Flynn evil.
I described choices.
She cried.
Then asked:
“Did he want me?”
That question broke me.
“Yes.”
A complicated yes.
He had wanted control through her.
But somewhere inside his broken ambition, I believed he had also wanted the idea of being her father.
Rose deserved at least that nuance.
“Do you hate him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because hate takes energy I want to spend on you.”
She thought about that.
Then hugged me.
At twelve, Rose asked to write Flynn a letter.
I helped her mail it.
His response arrived two months later.
Three pages.
No excuses.
Apparently years had finally taught him something.
Rose kept the letter.
She did not immediately ask for more contact.
That choice belonged to her.
Exactly as it should.
By then, Elias knew the truth too.
He and Rose remained close.
Selina and I had developed an arrangement that would have seemed impossible the morning after Rose’s birth.
We attended school events together.
Shared emergency contact information.
Argued occasionally about schedules.
Never discussed Flynn unless necessary.
One afternoon, Selina said:
“Can you believe we built something normal out of that disaster?”
I looked at our children arguing over ice cream.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Then she smiled.
“Still sorry I slept with your husband.”
I laughed.
“Good.”
“Still not forgiven?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She looked at me.
That was the first time I realized I had forgiven her.
Not forgotten.
Forgiven.
There is a difference.
And there was one final thing I needed before the story felt complete.
Not an apology.
Not a conviction.
Not money.
I needed the room where I had almost died to become something else.
May you like
So I went back to St. Catherine.
---
