56. SOCIAL
"Medea." It's the only word she can think of: the ultimate revenge. Kill a man's children because he's done you wrong. All those notes in the margin, the larger than life scrawl. Maggie wasn't doing research. She was learning how to torture her husband.
So very cruel.
"I don't think she intended to go through with it. We were apart for a few weeks. Then she left me a voicemail, asking me to meet with her again that evening at seven. I think she expected me to save her. To realize she couldn't live without me. I think it was a cry for help. That she was finally reaching out to me…for real."
When he looks at Bella it's as if he's begging for her to agree. That his wife wasn't sick enough to do that to herself, to a baby.
To him.
Bella can barely breathe. She can't say anything. Her words are caught up in the horror of his story. Muffled by the realization of his pain. But she can move, and she does.
She stands up, stares at this broken husk of a man. He's curled in on himself, keening, rocking back and forth. She aches to throw herself to her knees, to hold him, to tell him it's all going to be all right.
But it isn't. None of this is right. She thought they could heal each other, themselves, but all they've done is paper over the cracks.
"Those books..." she whispers. "All her notes. She was so angry, so vengeful. I didn't realize she wasn't talking about Medea and Jason. She was talking about you."
A social psychopath.
"She must have taken them from my shelves. I can't bring myself to read them. I still want to burn them. I don't even know why I asked you to study the goddamned things."
Bella knows. A cry for help. A shot in the dark. Perhaps even then, he sensed she could share his pain. "You should burn them. Every one. Maybe burn down your house while you're at it."
His laugh holds no humor. "If I could get away with it, I would. I'm going to sell it while I'm away. Jasper's agreed to help."
"He's been a good friend to both of us."
Edward nods. "He has."
They're quiet for a moment. She takes the opportunity to look at him again. In spite of the tears, he looks calmer somehow. Lighter. He holds his shoulders squarer, his spine straight.
"Thank you for telling me about Maggie," she says pointedly, letting out a big breath.
He looks up, meets her gaze. "You're the only person I've told; thank you for not judging me."
It's these words, rather than the horror of his story, that finally breaches the dam. As hot tears spill over from her eyes, she covers her mouth, trying to muffle her cries.
She thinks about all he's been through, all he's had to overcome.
About that poor, innocent baby, used as a weapon of mass destruction by its mother.
And Bella thinks about now—he's leaving, and it will break her heart to say goodbye.
