Page 60 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

"Your mother seems remarkable," Callum says as the elevator ascends."Raising three daughters alone.It couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't."The words come hesitantly, each one weighted with memories I usually keep tucked away."After my father left, she barely spoke for months.Just worked and slept.Sometimes I'd find her at the kitchen table at three AM, staring at nothing."

The elevator stops, but neither of us moves to exit immediately.

"How old were you?"he asks softly.

"Twelve."I swallow against the tightness in my throat."Old enough to understand what was happening, not old enough to do anything about it."

"Except you did, didn't you?"His perception cuts right through me."Do something about it."

I look away."Someone had to keep things moving.Viktoria was already in college.Susanna was too young."

"So you stepped up."It's not a question.

"I did what anyone would do."

"We both know that's not true."

The simple understanding in his voice makes something shift in my chest.

I step out of the elevator, needing air that doesn't feel charged with too much truth.

"Your mother left too," I say as he unlocks the suite door."When you were sixteen."

His jaw tightens."She couldn't handle the reduction in circumstances.Her American family offered an escape from our financial collapse."

"And your father?"

"Retreated into a bottle."He opens the door, ushering me inside."Fiona says he died of a broken heart.The reality was more prosaic.Liver failure.Three years later."

The detachment in his voice doesn't quite mask the pain underneath.

I suddenly understand Fiona's obsession with seeing him settled…

She's witnessed what losing love did to his father.

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.

He shrugs, but I notice how his shoulders remain tense."It was a long time ago."

"Some wounds remain fresh regardless of time."

He looks at me then, really looks, with an intensity that makes me feel exposed."Your father," he says carefully."Did he ever come back?"

The question catches me off guard.I rarely talk about this part.

"Once," I admit."When I was fourteen.Showed up at the house on a Tuesday afternoon like he'd just been out for groceries.Brought presents.Said he'd made a mistake."

"What happened?"

"He stayed for dinner.Promised to come back the next weekend."I move to the window, not wanting Callum to see my face."He didn't."

"And after that?"

I take a deep breath."He died two years later.Heart attack.We found out from his new wife's daughter, who called because she found our number in his wallet."

The silence that follows feels weightier than anything spoken aloud.