Chapter 17 - THE UNFINISHED CRIB
Marcus returned to his garage after the trials.
The oak pieces remained where he had left them.
Mrs. Porter from next door had turned off the sander and locked the garage on the afternoon of the baby shower.
A layer of dust covered the workbench.
Elena stood in the doorway.
She was thirty-six weeks pregnant.
“Can we finish it?”
Marcus looked at the crib.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
They worked slowly.
Elena measured the rails.
Marcus sanded the rough edges.
The smell of fresh timber returned.
After an hour, Elena spoke.
“I am still angry with you.”
“I know.”
“You knew the Carringtons were dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“You allowed me to believe your objections were about class differences.”
“Yes.”
“You let Richard humiliate you.”
Marcus set down the sander.
“I thought correcting him would reveal too much.”
“You chose the secret.”
“Yes.”
“Like Richard chose the trust.”
The comparison hurt.
Marcus accepted it.
“My reasons do not erase the effect.”
Elena sat against the workbench.
“Why did you hide your career from me after Mom died?”
“I wanted you to have one parent who did not belong to a war.”
“You thought pretending made that true.”
“Yes.”
Marcus ran one hand across the unfinished wood.
“I cannot ask you to forget.”
“I can answer every question you ask.”
“I can accept that you may never trust me the way you once did.”
Elena looked at him.
“I do trust you.”
“Differently.”
“That may be healthier.”
Marcus nodded.
Rebuilding trust did not resemble a federal operation.
There were no armored vehicles.
No encrypted commands.
No dramatic arrests.
It looked like hard questions asked in a dusty garage.
May you like
It looked like answers without excuses.
It looked like sanding the same piece of wood again because a child deserved not to touch a rough edge.
