I hesitated.
“Why are you still helping me?”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he answered.
“Because somebody helped my mother once.”
I blinked.
“Your mother?”
His voice changed.
“She spent years in a marriage where every decision was made for her. When she finally left, a woman she barely knew gave her a room, helped her find work, and reminded her she wasn’t property.”
My eyes filled.
“She got away?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“She rebuilt her life.”
A pause.
“She taught me that having power means very little if you only use it to control people.”
I wiped my cheeks.
“Your mother sounds wonderful.”
“She was.”
Was.
I understood.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
We sat quietly on the phone.
Then Damien asked, “Have you eaten?”
I laughed weakly.
“Is that a mafia interrogation technique?”
For the first time, I heard him laugh.
A real laugh.
“No. Camille says I ask terrible questions when I’m worried.”
