Chapter 8 - Victor Had To Choose Between His Mother And The Truth
After Arthur was medically checked, Victor sat beside me in the rehabilitation-center conference room.
Diane had been separated from us.
Her attorney was on the way.
Security had preserved video from the pool deck.
Victor looked destroyed.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
Then he said:
“I didn’t know she would do that.”
I stared at him.
“Which thing?”
He looked confused.
“Push Arthur.”
“Did you know she lied about where you were when Emily died?”
Silence.
That was the answer.
“Claire—”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“The hospital.”
“You were standing beside our daughter while she was on life support and the two of you were already deciding what story to tell me?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
Victor covered his face.
“I panicked.”
I hated the word.
Panic.
Everyone used panic as if it erased the decisions made after it.
“You left her.”
“I thought Mom was watching everyone.”
“You promised me you were watching Emily.”
“I know.”
“You went to meet Lauren.”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
“Then when Emily was found, you told me you were in your office.”
“Yes.”
“How long were you planning to let me believe that?”
Victor started crying.
“I don’t know.”
That was probably true.
Lies like his rarely come with expiration dates.
People tell them until circumstances make truth cheaper.
Then I showed him photographs from Dad’s phone.
The disabled alarm.
His own message:
Yes. Taken care of.
Victor stared at it.
“I thought maintenance fixed it later.”
“Did you verify?”
“No.”
“Did you tell me it was still broken?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Emily’s neurologist?”
“No.”
He whispered:
“I killed her.”
I said something that surprised both of us.
“No.”
Victor looked up.
“You didn’t murder Emily.”
He started shaking.
“That does not mean you get to call what happened unavoidable.”
I needed the distinction.
For myself.
May you like
For Emily.
For the truth.
