Marie nodded, and her eyes seemed heavier and sadder than Emma had ever seen them, like everything had finally caught up to her. “I know. I wish I’d been brave enough.”
Emma inched closer to her mother, her heart in her throat now. “I was talking to an old friend the other day… She mentioned what happened when you stepped back from the limelight.”
Marie’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Emma moved closer and placed her hands on her mother’s, pausing to offer her a light squeeze. “I know you were sick. I know you had a health scare that forced you to step back and take some time away. I know Dad had to help you get back on your feet, and it must’ve put a strain on your marriage.”
Silence stretched between them.
A clock struck somewhere in the distance.
Abruptly, Marie rose to her feet and smoothed out the front of her blouse. “I should check on the cake and then your dad. He should have something to eat.”
Emma rose to her feet. “Mom, we should talk about this.”
Marie stepped into the kitchen and peered through the glass of the oven, a frown hovering on the edge of her lips. “There’s nothing to talk about. It happened a long time ago. I’m betternow. I have a job that is much more fulfilling and useful. I love being able to help families.”
Emma crossed to the kitchen and leaned over the counter. “I think your job is great, and I’m so grateful that you found a new purpose after losing your acting career, but…”
Marie wheeled around to face her, and something about the look on her face made Emma pause.
It was the look of a woman who had her mind made up. Everything from the tight set of her eyes to the tilt of her head to the way she clenched her hands indicated one thing: It didn’t matter what Emma said, Marie wasn’t going to tell her anything.
Not today.
Suddenly, she couldn’t find the words she needed—the ones on the tip of her tongue.
How could she when her mom was looking at her like she was about to crack?
As if one word from Emma would bring her to her knees?
She wanted to feel closer to her mother, but not at the expense of her well-being. As much as it pained her to admit it, Emma knew her mother wasn’t ready to talk about it, or else she would’ve brought it up. She’d been keeping it close to her chest all those years for a reason.
The incomparable Marie Sullivan hated appearing weak in any form.
She’d spent years crafting a public persona that oozed charm and charisma; even Emma had barely gotten around that.
But there it was, at long last, a small dent that allowed some light in, and it was beautiful.
And tragic.
Emma had never seen her look more beautiful or vulnerable, especially with her shoulders squared and her chin raised high in the air.
“I know you mean well,” Marie whispered, the tears spilling freely now. “But your father and I…wedon’ttalk about what happened. We did what we needed to do in order to get through it, and I’m fine now. That’s all that matters.”
Emma’s chest tightened and cracked. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Marie released a deep, shaky breath. “Yes.”
Emma pushed herself off the counter and let her hands fall to her sides. “Okay, I’ll stop pushing, but I want you to know that no matter what happened between us in the past, you’re still my mother, and I still love you.”
Marie’s voice was hoarse when she spoke. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
A moment later, Henry’s voice wafted over to them, breaking the spell they were under. With a quick, distracted smile, Marie hurried out of the kitchen toward Henry’s study. She stopped in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder, looking younger than she had in years.
Emma felt as if she was getting a glimpse into the person her mom used to be: before the fame, before the toll it took, and before the illness ended everything she’d worked hard for.
It almost broke her.
