Perception ✔

22 Fix & Fit

The fire of the oil lamp was all but gone. It was the third to diminish all night. Shadows danced against the walls. Despite the warm tone of light, I felt cold.

I shed a tear and closed my eyes to stave off the rest. Edmond was the opposite, he looked...satisfied.

"He lied to her," he muttered from the large chair, eyes fixed on the table. When he picked his head up, a ghost of a smile faded from his calm expression. "He told her that he'd been with a nurse. But he told me he hadn't been with anyone but her. Ever."

Perhaps it was pride that he felt at Raphael's honor, but fury burned in me instead.

"So, he wasted seven years of his life, fighting for a woman who eventually got him killed?" I asked.

Edmond sat back, surprised.

"And he told her that," I explained with feigned composure, "he betrayed his pact, and made her believe he was moving on because he tried to allow her the same. Again and again, he tried to escape her and she wouldn't allow it."

Each utterance had Edmond's gaze drifting. Once it settled on the floor, it was all I could do not to fling something at the wall.

"She let him go, too. She tried to—"

"By drawing him a picture of my daughter and masquerading her as a boy—"

"She did it to keep him alive!" Edmond gazed at me, awed. "I hated her. Until the very moment I realized you had these letters, the ones he'd sent, I'd hated her. Even upon discovering she'd poisoned herself, I'd hated her. But now...." He shook his head, tearful. "Now, I'm happy to have the second side of the correspondences."

On the table, his set of letters still rested beside mine. We'd taken turns; I read for Bella and he for Raphael. And that had made it harder. Edmond sat proud now, while I felt only shame.

Arabella had hated herself in the end, but she had been right. Raphael was handsome. And with the favor of a king, land, and money, he could have done well enough for himself.

All he needed to do was forget Arabella.

But he hadn't and it had dragged him down. So why was it that Edmond could find peace in these letters, while they left me wrecked?

"I'm sure you wonder how I know Cinderella was yours." Edmond waited for me to focus on him before boasting, "She told him. Within days of him returning, she came to see him in town. And that's why he came to find me."

My eyes settled on the mahogany.

"He told me right away, he recognized her illness before she'd confessed it to him. And he sought me out because their child would no doubt end up orphaned now that they were a couple once more."

I sat back, hands gripping the chair. "Are you saying that she gave that to him?"

My fury was met with surprise. "He said he did not care. I genuinely believe he did not. There were new treatments he wished to find for her. But if you're asking if he was intimate with her despite the illness, then yes. He was."

I stood, shoving my chair back as I turned to face the rising sun beyond the window.

Even that was unforgivable.

"She was horrid."

No counter argument came. When Edmond finally spoke, his concern lay elsewhere. "But all that Cinderella has witnessed would be difficult for any child. I...I think you should consider having her looked at."

Hands behind my back, I watched the sun begin its laborious effort to pull itself above the tree line.

"There's nothing wrong with her," I affirmed.