Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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It's been almost a month since Mr. McKinnie's funeral, and I haven't spoken to my family, Jo, or Greyson since.
I didn't expect to hear from Greyson, and my parents have given me the space I asked for. Jo and Adelaide haven't been quite as accommodating. At least every other day, one of them texts to ask if I'm ready to talk, and every time, I give them the same answer.
No.
At first, I was furious with all of them. Now, nearly a month later, most of that anger has burned itself out, leaving behind something I've learned takes much longer to heal.
Hurt.
When I confronted my parents, they told me the truth. They hadn't known Greyson lied about leaving South Grove until almost two weeks after I'd gone back to New York. By then, I was settled at Vogue, building the life I'd spent years working toward. They apologized for keeping the truth from me, but my mother also admitted that if she had to make the choice again, she'd do the same thing.
That part still stings.
They believed telling me would have changed everything. That I would've come home, or at least questioned whether I should stay in New York, and they weren't willing to let me give up an opportunity that might never come again. Greyson couldn't leave South Grove, and they understood why, but they didn't think that meant I should give up my future to stay with him.
I still believe that decision belonged to me. I should've been allowed to know the truth and decide for myself what I was willing to sacrifice.
But I do understand why they did it.
Jo kept quiet because my parents asked her to. Adelaide's explanation was even simpler:
"I won't let you hold yourself back for any man. Ever."
I wanted to shake her when she said it, but the annoying part is that if our roles were reversed, I'm not sure I would've done anything differently.
And Greyson never asked any of them to lie for him. I needed to know that more than I realized. What he did was bad enough, but there wasn't some years-long conspiracy he'd orchestrated behind my back. He made one terrible decision, watched me leave for New York, and convinced himself he'd done what was best for me.
Apparently, everyone I love has a problem deciding what's best for me.
Maybe that's why this has been so difficult to forgive. After years with Will, I promised myself I'd never again let someone else decide what I should wear, what I should eat, where I should go, or what kind of life I was allowed to have. Will called it love while slowly taking every choice away from me.
What Greyson did wasn't the same. I know that. But having my choice taken from me still hurts.
