Page 67 of Masquerade Mistake
I don’t move, even when he creaks the door open. From where I’m sitting, I can still see him as he peers around the room before spotting me in the bathroom.
“Hey,” he says, pushing the door open further. “You feel okay?”
I don’t answer, just continue staring straight ahead. He joins me, dropping into a cross-legged position just outside the bathroom.
“Does Finn know?” I whisper.
“Know what?”
I look up at him, not wanting to say it. I finally gesture to myself, looking away as I do.
“No,” he says. “He knows you’re not feeling well, but he doesn’t know why.”
I close my eyes, hot tears welling in my lashes.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He scoots next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I want to pull away, feeling undeserving of his attention. At the same time, it’s like rain in a drought. I’ve missed his touch terribly. I lean against him, and as I do, an involuntary shudder moves through me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.
“I’m thinking that I let my son down completely.” I fold my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers into each other. “I’m thinking how I have one job that matters in this life, and that’s to make sure Finn is cared for and safe, and I failed to do that.”
“That’s not true,” Ethan says, running his hand on my shoulder. “I was here with him the whole time. Never once was he unsupervised or left to fend for himself.” He squeezes me against him, then brushes my hair away from my face. I can’t look at him though. I want to evaporate, cease to exist. “Claire, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
At this, I jerk away. I scramble to my feet, closing my eyes briefly as my head catches up with the motion. When the room stills, I glare at Ethan.
“I did everything wrong,” I hiss. “What if you weren’t here? He never would have woken up or made the bus. What if he got sick last night or fell out of bed and hurt himself? I wouldn’t have been able to care for him. I know better. I can’t put him through that too. I can’t…” I break off, my voice cracking as hot tears blur my vision. Ethan moves to stand, and I put my hands up to keep him from coming close.
“You enjoyed a night out,” he says. “When was the last time you could hang out with Maren and not worry about being a mom?”
“It doesn’t matter. I am a mom!”
“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” he says. I shake my head, but his words only make me cry harder.
“I’m just like h…”
“No,” he says angrily, this time closing the space between us and taking hold of my shoulders. He leans down, his face close to mine so that I can’t look anywhere else. “You’re nothing like her,” he growls. “Finn will never know what you went through because he’ll never experience it. You went out for one night, and you had too much to drink. Do you think you’re the only parent who’s ever done that? Do you know how many times I’ve had too much to drink? I can’t even give you a number, and that doesn’t make me a bad person.”
“But you weren’t caring for a child,” I point out.
“And neither were you.”
I start to argue, but he shakes his head.
“Claire, Finn was with me. He was safe, and you were free to have some fun.”
I take a shaky breath and nod my head, but I can’t shake my feelings of failure.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I do, my lip trembling as he wipes the tears from my lashes. I turn away, wiping the rest of them on the sleeve of my robe. Then I look back at him.
“You’re a good mom,” he says. “Probably one of the best. Finn is lucky to have you, and you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
My heart lurches at this, my lips parting as his words wash over me. I realize how much I’ve missed him, and how much I’m craving his touch now. Last night is still foggy, but I remember curling into him, sleeping while his arm was wrapped around my waist.
He reaches out and brushes my hair away from my face, then swipes his fingers across my cheeks to catch my tears. I look at him through blurry eyes, catching the way his gaze softens.
“You’re so beautiful, it’s distracting,” he murmurs. My mouth drops, and while they’re nice words to hear, I don’t believe him.