There had been no peace; there had only been a conflict with his mother that he refused to have, and a wife he had chosen to carry it for him. Keeping the peace had been the flattering name he gave to the act of handing her his mother’s anger, over and over, and trusting her love to keep her from putting it down.

She scrolled to the rest of the message. You were right when you said I chose a side long before I admitted I was choosing one.

I hope I never treat anyone like that again.

Chapter 18 — Relief, Not Triumph

Marisol did not feel the sharp, bitter satisfaction she might once have imagined feeling at those words.

She felt something gentler and far more durable instead: pure relief.

She typed a brief, courteous reply. I hope you don’t either, Dorian. Then she set the phone face down and leaned back into the soft leather of her father’s chair.