Chapter 3 - The Woman Beside Her Mother
Delaney found the photograph in the garage.
Marissa had placed several boxes beside the recycling bins, each labeled in neat black marker:
ELISE — PERSONAL.
The casualness of it made Delaney angrier than the fight.
She tore open the first box.
Scarves.
Cookbooks.
A pair of gardening gloves.
Christmas ornaments Delaney had made in elementary school.
The second contained photographs.
There was the missing picture.
Elise stood beside Marissa beneath a banner for a Northern Virginia cancer fundraiser.
The photograph was dated nearly three years earlier.
Long before Elise died.
Long before Grant claimed his relationship with Marissa had begun.
Delaney carried it into the kitchen.
Grant was there alone.
“Explain this.”
He looked at the photograph.
His shoulders dropped.
“They knew each other.”
“How?”
“Marissa volunteered with the foundation.”
“Was she Mom’s friend?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did Mom introduce you?”
Grant leaned against the counter.
“Yes.”
Delaney nearly laughed at the cruelty of it.
“So Mom introduced you to the woman you started sleeping with.”
“Months later.”
“You keep saying months like they’re absolution.”
“They’re not.”
“Then stop using them like they are.”
Grant looked toward the living room.
Marissa had gone upstairs after the fight.
“What happened between your mother and me was complicated before Marissa ever entered it.”
“Then why does Marissa hate her?”
Grant frowned.
“She doesn’t.”
“She threw her portrait into the trash.”
His jaw tightened.
“She told me she was taking things down because it felt like she was living in someone else’s house.”
“She is living in someone else’s house.”
“Delaney.”
“What? You married her eleven months after Mom died and moved her into Mom’s bedroom.”
“We renovated that room.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
Grant exhaled.
“She has struggled with being compared to your mother.”
“Nobody asked her to compete.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel it.”
Delaney stared at the picture again.
Elise and Marissa weren’t smiling like casual acquaintances.
Marissa had one arm around Elise’s waist.
Her mother was leaning into her.
They looked comfortable.
Familiar.
On the back, Elise had written a date and four words.
Thank you for showing up.
Delaney turned the photograph toward Grant.
“What did she mean?”
Grant read it.
For the first time since the accusation, genuine confusion crossed his face.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I’ve never seen this picture.”
Delaney watched him carefully.
Grant was a terrible liar when cornered. His ears reddened. He talked too much.
Now he seemed honestly puzzled.
That frightened her for a different reason.
May you like
If her father did not know why her mother had thanked Marissa—
then something important had happened between the two women without him.
