Her lips quivered, no words forthcoming.
He released her hand with gentle resignation.
Frustration gnawing at him, he longed for a smoke.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a calm veneer.
âCecilia, Iâve wronged you, I know.
And I feel your resentment.
Iâve lived these years, risking everything for you, our kids.
Iâve earned your coldness, but Iâm aging, Cecilia.
I wanna do everything to care for you and our family while I still can.
If we prolong this, I fear itâll be too late.
â
His gaze held her.
Her vitality contrasted his concealed fear of aging.
He never dared let her see the insecurity shadowing his pride.
The fear that standing next to her, heâd invite judgment, bring her grief.
It wasnât reluctance to chase her, but a cruel race against time.
Ceciliaâs heart sank.
She wanted to forgive him, to grasp his hand, to say she bore no grudge.
âs BunnyBookery
But she couldnât.
She departed in tears, unaware Mark mirrored her sorrowâ¦
Their relationship was a tangle of rights and wrongs, perhaps misguided from the start.
From then on, Mark withdrew.
He ceased his overtures, kept abreast of her life only through snippets.
Her career moves, social life, unsuccessful blind dates.
Their paths crossed sporadically, thanks to the kids, with brief, indifferent exchanges.
Mark wasnât sure if it was surrender.
Heâd offered happiness; sheâd declined, pained by his methods.
He faded from her world, yet funded almost all of Simonâs productions.
Came summer, and Markâs health improved.
Charlie, having visited Mark a few times in Rouemn, had grown close.
He invited Mark to the club, where they played cards in a private room.
Inside a private room, Mark and friends were engrossed in a card game.
Charlie, the ever-vigilant host, prohibited smoking.
He joked, âMarkâs looking better.
Must be the lack of female company,â earning a glare and a curse from Mark.