Page 22 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Kyle March, 2025

“How are you, Kyle?”

Dr. Nina asks, her voice soft and patient, that southern drawl of hers turning my name into something gentle.

At first, I wasn’t sure about seeing a female therapist. Thought it might be uncomfortable, too exposing. But that’s probably why she’s perfect. She doesn’t let me dodge.

I shift on the sofa.

“It’s been a few months since I moved out and the divorce was finalised. The kids are finally coming around. Levi actually answered me last week instead of just grunting. Jemma showed me her math grade. Iris sent me a voice note. I was starting to feel... okay. Like maybe I hadn’t completely destroyed everything.”

She waits. Doesn’t rush.

“Until I found out it was pity,”

I add, quieter now.

“They weren’t letting me in. They were feeling bad for me.”

Her brows lift slightly, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“Because…”

I hesitate, jaw tightening.

“Because Jackie’s dating.”

“How do you feel about that?”

she asks, voice as neutral as ever.

“It’s fine,”

I say.

“She’s single.”

Dr. Nina tilts her head. She doesn’t push. Just waits.

“Fine,”

I snap.

“I’m mad, okay? I’m pissed. Here I am busting my ass, spilling my guts to a stranger about every dark, messed-up thing I’ve done, and she’s out dating like… like nothing happened. Like we didn’t have a life together. Like she didn’t just walk away with the kids and the house and everything.”

“What should she be doing?”

Nina asks, not accusing, just curious.

“I don’t know,”

I say quickly.

“But not that.”

“You said she’s single.”

“She is,”

I bite out.

“And you’re divorced.”

“Yes.”

“So, she’s allowed to date.”

I rub a hand over my face.

“I know that. Logically. I know. But it’s different.”

“How?”

“The women I was with,”

I start, voice already tightening.

“They weren’t about emotions. It wasn’t dating. It wasn’t… it wasn’t real. It was a release. An escape.”

Nina’s quiet a beat. Then.

“Maybe your ex-wife needs a release too. Maybe she needs something to remind herself she’s wanted. Or maybe she just wants a meal and someone to make her laugh.”

I grit my teeth.

“It just… it feels fast.”

“She spent years grieving you, Kyle,”

Dr. Nina says gently.

“Long before the divorce. You weren’t emotionally present. You weren’t honest. She’s not moving on fast; she’s moving on now that she’s allowed to.”

The words hit like a weight on my chest.

“Fine,”

I mutter.

“Maybe I should move on too. Spend my time with other women instead of… sitting here unpacking all this.”

I stand, huffing. The sofa squeaks as I get up.

“That would be your M.O.,”

Dr. Nina says, calm and sharp, before I can walk away.

I pause. “What?”

She flips through her notes like she already knows exactly what she’s looking for.

“According to what you’ve told me; the first time you cheated was when your wife was on bedrest. The second time, she’d just had a breakdown and left for a while.”

I stiffen.

“You know what both of those moments have in common?”

she continues.

“They weren’t about her being gone. They were about you feeling like you weren’t being given what you were owed.”

“That’s not true,”

I snap.

“I stayed when Levi got sick. I stayed when we were drowning in hospital bills. I didn’t run.”

“I didn’t say you run when things get hard,”

she says, voice calm.

“You stay. You fight. You shoulder burdens. But when you feel neglected, when you feel unseen, that’s when you leave. Not physically, but emotionally. That’s when you give yourself permission to break your vows.”

My chest tightens. My fingers twitch.

“Oh my God,”

I whisper, slowly sitting back down. “I…”

Dr. Nina waits, hands folded.

“When I was a kid… I walked in on my father kissing his secretary. And I asked him why.”

My throat works, memory thick in it.

“Why he would do that to mom. And he said… it was the only choice. That my mom wasn’t there. That she neglected him.”

Dr. Nina says nothing.

“I didn’t want to believe him,”

I go on.

“But he was right. She was always gone. Church events, family obligations, charity things. My mom loved to show us off, but she wasn’t present. And I guess… I believed him. That it wasn’t cheating, not really. Because she wasn’t there.”

Dr. Nina meets my eyes, steady.

“Your father successfully shifted the blame. He turned his betrayal into something rational. And you, as a kid who already felt abandoned by his mom, believed him.”

I close my eyes.

“And now?”

she asks.

“Do you still believe it?”

“I don’t know,”

I whisper.

“But maybe… maybe that’s what I did to Jackie. Told myself she left first. That she was gone. So, I could do what I wanted.”

She nods.

“And now that she’s truly gone, now that she’s healing, you don’t want to believe that.”

The silence sits heavy.

“I don’t want to be like him,”

I say.

“I don’t want to keep blaming everyone else for my choices.”

“Then don’t,”

she says softly.

“You already know where that road leads.”

I stare at the rug beneath my feet.

“How do I… get over this?”

Dr. Nina doesn’t answer right away. She shifts in her seat, then asks.

“I’ve heard you talk about your father. About the fights. About how much you didn’t want to become him. But you’ve never really spoken about your mother.”

I blink.

“I don’t really know her.”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“I mean, she had a kid. She fed me. I know she loved me, but…”

I shrug.

“She loved her parties more. Her image. She never rocked the boat. My dad would openly parade his mistresses around, and she just… stayed quiet.”

Dr. Nina nods.

“And according to your father, she had her own affairs.”

“Yeah.”

“And according to her?”

she asks gently.

I pause, throat tightening.

“I don’t know,”

I admit.

“I never asked.”

Dr. Nina leans forward slightly.

“So let me ask you this, how can you expect to heal from your own pain, your own patterns, if you’ve never really looked at the people who taught you how to carry it?”

That lands hard.

“I think,”

she says slowly.

“you’ve been trying so hard not to be your father that you didn’t even notice how much of your mother you carry too.”

My eyes snap up to hers.

“You said she stayed. That she looked away. That she chose silence. You’ve done that too, haven’t you? When things got messy? When it was easier to bury the truth?”

I swallow.

“She didn’t stop him,”

Dr. Nina continues.

“And you didn’t stop yourself. You let it happen. Just like she did. And maybe that’s where the shame really lives.”

It’s quiet for a long time.

I nod, finally. “Yeah.”

“You don’t heal by erasing where you come from,”

she says softly.

“You heal by finally facing it.”

The opportunity to talk to my mother comes sooner than I want.

One of the reasons I chose mediation was to keep everything low-key. Quiet. Off the family radar. But my luck, apparently, has run out.

The following Saturday, I pull into the apartment complex and immediately notice the sleek black limo parked out front. Not just idling, but parked like it owns the lot. No driver leaning on the hood, no family members waiting on the steps. They’re still inside.

Which means only one person could be behind this particular brand of dramatics.

Fuck.

The door opens before I even reach it.

And out steps my mother.

Perfectly dressed in beige and cream, oversized sunglasses on despite the darkening sky. She looks like she’s coming back from brunch at the country club, not dropping a bomb on her only child.

She air-kisses both my cheeks like I’m her girlfriend in from Europe.

“Kyle, darling,”

she says sweetly.

“What is this I hear about a divorce? That woman has finally done it, hasn’t she?”

I exhale.

“How did you find out?”

She acts like I’ve asked the stupidest question on earth.

“I came to surprise the children. Imagine my shock when the babysitter informs me you no longer live there. Really, Kyle? No warning? I had to find out like this?”

“Let’s talk inside,”

I say, jaw tight, and lead her into the apartment.

She pauses just past the threshold, taking it all in, narrow hallway, the barely decorated living room, a few unpacked boxes, IKEA furniture. Her lips purse with judgment before she even opens her mouth.

“This is what you left the house for?”

I grit my teeth.

She continues.

“Why would you give that up? The prenup clearly stated the house remains in your possession-”

“I voided the prenup,”

I cut in, sharper than I meant to.

That actually shuts her up.

Her eyebrows shoot up above the rim of her sunglasses.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I voided it,”

I repeat.

“It was wrong of me to let Dad intimidate Jackie into signing it in the first place.”

My mother blinks. Then her voice drops into something colder.

“We were protecting you.”

“We?”

She sighs like she’s been carrying the burden of the world and no one appreciates her sacrifices.

“Yes, we. It was my idea. Your father never thought sweet, innocent Jackie would actually leave you. But I knew better. I know girls like her. All soft smiles and helpless charm, getting their hooks into good, decent boys-”

I stare at her.

“-and then bleeding them dry the second they’re done playing house.”

My blood goes cold.

“You think that’s what this is?”

I ask, my voice low.

“You think she played me?”

She lifts her chin.

“She took the house. I’m guessing alimony, since she doesn’t work. The kids. What would you call it?”

“She didn’t take anything,”

I snap.

“I gave it to her. Willingly. Because it was the right thing to do.”

My mother looks at me like I’ve just announced I’m joining a cult. And maybe I have, one where guilt is currency and accountability’s the sermon.

“Really, son?”

she says, her voice icy with disbelief.

“It’s six in the evening, and the children are with the nanny while she frolics around town with your money. And you’re standing here telling me she didn’t play you?”

I grit my teeth.

“It’s her week with the kids. She can do what she wants. And we agreed on fifty-fifty. Joint custody.”

She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms like she’s schooling me.

“Oh, Kyle. You can’t be that na?ve. She’ll play nice until she turns them against you. That’s how women like her operate. You’ll be lucky if you see them once a month by next year.”

I go still. And then I say it, quietly.

“Like you saw your kid?”

That makes her flinch. The first crack in her porcelain composure.

“You had full custody,”

I continue, my voice shaking.

“You had every legal right. And yet, you barely knew me.”

Her voice breaks.

“I know you.”

“No, you don’t,”

I say.

“You know who you wanted me to be. The version of me you showed off at fundraisers and galas. But you don’t know the kid who couldn’t understand why his father was cheating. Or the boy who was told that cheating is fine, as long as you feel ‘neglected.’”

Her head snaps up.

“Is that what he told you?”

she asks, removing her sunglasses, her voice thin.

I nod slowly.

“Yes. More recently, he told me you had some kind of arrangement. That he does what he wants and you do who you want.”

She looks away like the words physically hurt her.

“Well, this is just…”

“Tell me your side, Mom,”

I cut in, gentler now. “Please.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just walks toward the kitchen, her heels sharp against the wooden floor. Then she stops, resting her hands on the edge of the island like she needs an anchor.

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

she finally asks, her back to me.

“Because I need to understand,”

I say.

“Why you stayed.”

She slowly pulls out a stool and sits. Her hands tremble as she laces them together.

“I married your father the day I turned eighteen,”

she begins, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“It had been arranged for a long time. Since we were babies, actually. My grandfather and Kent’s served together in the war. When they came back, they decided our families should be tied together. And so, we were.”

I stay silent, afraid she’ll stop if I interrupt.

“At first, things were… fine. But then your father’s father and my mother-”

she pauses, swallowing hard.

“They had an affair. Ran off together. It ruined both families. By then, you’d already been born. And my father, well, when he cut ties with the Greysons, it meant cutting us off too.”

She looks up at me, eyes glossy but not crying.

“As for Kent’s side? They never forgave me. His mother made it her mission to make my life hell. And your father… he stood up for me, in the beginning. But slowly, he started blaming me for everything too. It was like I became the symbol of everything that went wrong.”

I’m still. Listening. Processing.

“When I found out about his affair with my best friend, I packed my bags. I was ready to go. But he told me I wouldn’t be taking you. Said if I tried, he and his mother would accuse me of abusing you. Said I’d never see you again.”

I feel something break in my chest.

“He controlled the money. I didn’t have help. No one would’ve believed me, not against him, not against her,”

she continues.

“So, I stayed. I told myself I’d find a way to leave eventually. I started joining charities, boards, events I used to hate. Tried to build my own leverage. My own image.”

She shakes her head, laughing bitterly.

“But your grandmother made sure I barely saw you. Always watching. Always twisting things. And by the time she died, you… hated me.”

My mouth opens, but no words come.

“I knew,”

she says quietly.

“I knew if I left then, you’d never come with me. You’d never believe me. So, once more I stayed.”

Silence stretches between us like a loaded wire.

I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time, not as my perfectly coiffed, distant mother, but as someone who made impossible choices and paid for all of them.

“I didn’t know,” I say.

“No,”

she agrees softly.

“You weren’t meant to.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

I ask, my voice quieter now. Not angry, just… tired.

She turns her head away from me, but not fast enough to hide the red-rimmed eyes. She blinks up at the ceiling like she’s trying to force the tears back in.

“Would you have believed me if I had?”

she says, voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I slowly pull out the stool beside her and sit. The silence stretches. Heavy. Honest.

And I think.

The guy I was, the one who idolized my father, who dismissed my mother like she was part of the furniture, that guy wouldn’t have believed her. Hell, if she’d told me even six months ago, I probably would’ve scoffed. Maybe even accused her of rewriting history.

But what’s worse?

I wouldn’t have cared.

She had a limo. Jewellery. Staff. A so-called perfect life. And that’s all I ever saw. I never once stopped to ask if she was happy. If she was safe. If she had even a shred of dignity left.

“I wouldn’t have believed you,”

I admit, the words burning.

“And I wouldn’t have cared. Not really.”

She presses her lips together, nodding once like she expected that.

“I’m sorry,”

I say, and for once, I mean it.

“I didn’t see you.”

She turns back toward me, her face older somehow. Not just in years, but in wear. Like she’s finally stopped holding her breath after decades.

“I’m not proud of the choices I made,”

she says.

“But I did the best I could with what I had. You were the only thing that kept me here, Kyle. I just wish you hadn’t grown up thinking I didn’t love you.”

My throat tightens. I rub my face and nod.

“Yeah,”

I say hoarsely. “Me too.”