Chapter 2

"My mother was hospitalized," Bastien explained. "Talia was her attending physician. She was incredible. Really thorough, really kind. Mom was in bad shape, and Talia helped find specialists and got her a bed. Mom recovered, and I couldn't thank Talia enough. One thing led to another, and we fell in love."

"Was that four years ago? In the fall?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes widened. "Yeah. How did you know?"

How did I know?

Because that fall, four years ago, my mother was in the hospital too.

Her heart was failing. The doctors said she needed bypass surgery as soon as possible. I went to Talia, begging her to help me contact a cardiac specialist. Even just one phone call.

"Wes, I'm busy," she'd said, as though I were inconveniencing her.

I was desperate. I argued. I begged. She accused me of being irrational and said I was suffocating her with my demands.

That night she never came to the hospital.

I filled out forms, searched for doctors, signed consents, and waited through the night alone in a corridor that smelled of disinfectant.

Mom didn't make it.

During the funeral, Talia was impatient with me. She said coming home felt depressing.

For four years I'd believed my grief had been too much for her. That somehow I'd pushed our marriage toward ruin.

But that wasn't it.

When Bastien's mother was ill, Talia called specialists, found beds, and ran herself ragged helping a frightened son.

When my mother was ill, she wouldn't even make a phone call.

Bastien's tears moved her. Mine irritated her. When I begged, she only felt worn out.

It wasn't that she had no compassion to give.

She'd just never given any of it to me.

What a joke.

I looked down at the pie box for two sitting on the counter. My stomach twisted. I couldn't stand there another second.

I turned and walked out.

"Hey!" Bastien called. "You forgot your pies!"

I reached my car before my legs gave out. Bracing myself against the door, I finally broke down.

"Wes."

Talia had followed me. She held out a tissue.

"What happened with your mother wasn't what I wanted," she said quietly. "I've thought about it since. I was too rigid back then. I thought following procedure was everything. Later I learned that sometimes people need compassion as much as rules."

I lifted my head. A laugh escaped me, sharp and ugly.

"So my mother had to die for you to learn compassion?"

Talia went pale.

"That's not what I meant. Wes, I'm sorry."

She opened her mouth again, but Bastien appeared with the box in his arms.

"Here you go!" He gave Talia a teasing look. "You ran after him and didn't even bring his order? I know I'm forgetful, but you're worse."

"I forgot," she murmured, swallowing whatever she'd been about to say.

Bastien handed me the box. "Take care of yourself. Even if you're getting divorced and spending it on your own, you still deserve a nice Thanksgiving."

My fingers went numb around the handle.

He tugged at Talia's sleeve. "Come on. We still have a pile of orders to pack."

She glanced back once. Then she followed him inside.

I watched them walk away side by side. The absurdity of it was almost too much.

Talia and I had dated for three years and been married for seven. We'd started with almost nothing. The day we got our marriage license, all we could afford was a $9.99 bouquet.