He Cheated With My Friend My Parents Helped Chapter 34
This year, Julian stood beside me, seriously comparing the ingredient lists on two different brands.
“Which one do you like?”
“Either is fine.”
“No, either is not fine,” he said, feigning seriousness. “This is our first Thanksgiving together.”
I took the box from his left hand.
“This one.”
He placed the pie in our cart and went off in search of cinnamon.
My phone buzzed.
My lawyer had forwarded a message from Thomas.
[Mags, the house is sold. I saved all your old photos. If you don’t want them, I’ll keep them for you.]
I read the message, then turned off the screen.
Julian returned to my side.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
We invited a few colleagues who weren’t traveling for the holiday to have dinner with us.
My cooking was still a work in progress, and the turkey came out a little dry, but no one seemed to mind. We all sat around the table, laughing and talking.
As we were eating the pumpkin pie, it hit me: this was the first holiday I’d had in years that wasn’t built on a foundation of lies.
After dinner, Julian insisted on doing the dishes.
I leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching him.
“Thomas and Laura sold the house.”
He turned off the faucet.
“Does that make you sad?”
“A little,” I admitted. “But not because of the house.”
That place held my childhood memories. It also held the memory of every betrayal. Selling it couldn’t erase either.
Julian dried his hands and came to stand in front of me.
“It’s okay to be sad.”
I rested my forehead against his shoulder.
He didn’t urge me to contact them. He didn’t give me a lecture about how blood is thicker than water.
At last, I understood. Real care doesn’t force forgiveness.