Chapter 184: Old Regrets

Diana managed a small smile. "Yeah. Age changed me."

That brought the faintest hint of warmth to Marianne’s expression.

Diana shifted in her seat. "I came because I didn’t understand your phone call. You said something was wrong with Naomi?"

"I heard something that didn’t sit well with me. I apologise if this doesn’t quite sit right with you, but I have to know."

"Did Naomi grow up well?" Marianne’s eyes stayed fixed on hers. "Was she happy?"

Diana sighed. "Of course she was. She loves the kids, and the kids love her. We gave her everything we could."

There was enough truth in that statement for Diana to cling to it.

Naomi had grown up with them. She had eaten at their table, elped with Ethan and Millie and been part of their home.

Whatever else had gone wrong, Diana refused to believe all of it had been bad.

Marianne looked down for a moment. "Stupid me... How are the kids? They must be quite grown now. I never met Millie but I see her pictures. She will grow up breaking hearts."

"They’re doing well."

Marianne nodded, but Diana could see the questions still sitting behind her eyes.

Before Marianne could ask another one, Diana spoke.

"I’m also worried about Naomi. And this man she married."

"Why?"

Diana exhaled. "He is turning her against her family. He’s isolating her, trapping her. All he wants is to be the centre of her world. Just this weekend, she barged into the house raining fire and brimstone over something Richard knew nothing about." She shook her head. "That isn’t Naomi. At least, it wasn’t."

She leaned closer to the screen. "She barely listens anymore. Everything is Dorian this and Dorian that. If Richard says something, she questions him. If I say something, she acts like I’m crazy. The man is bad for her, Marianne."

"I see..." Marianne said slowly. "Did she say what the issue was?"

"Richard is rough around the edges. He’s short-tempered, and God knows he can be difficult, but he would never do what he was accused of."

"What was he accused of?"

"She said Richard had her husband assaulted."

"I see."

Two harmless words that gave Diana absolutely nothing while Marianne’s mind worked behind them.

Instead of wondering why Naomi might believe her uncle capable of such a thing, Diana had decided the real problem was Naomi’s husband.

"She won’t even listen to me," Diana continued. "She has changed completely. We barely see her anymore. She doesn’t come over to the house."

Marianne watched her carefully through the glass.

There had once been a time when she had trusted Diana more than almost anyone. Diana was Raymond’s sister, yes, but she had also been family to Marianne. More importantly, she had been the woman Marianne trusted to look after her daughter when prison took away her own ability to do it.

That trust was beginning to feel heavier by the second.

"So Richard suggested that we should get you a lawyer," Diana said. "Someone who can help figure things out before your next parole hearing. Naomi needs you right now."

Marianne nearly laughed at the irony.

For years, everyone had been perfectly comfortable allowing Naomi to believe her mother was dead. Suddenly, Naomi needed her so badly that Richard Whitmore had developed an interest in prison reform.

"The lawyer will come in and work with you," Diana continued. "You’ll sign whatever needs to be signed, and he can start working on your case."

"I see."

Good Lord, she was beginning to sound like a broken record.

Diana leaned closer to the glass. "What do you think?"

Marianne gave her a small smile. "Sure. It’s a good idea. I’m fed up with this place anyway."

Relief washed over Diana’s face.

"Really?"

"Really."

Diana exhaled and relaxed into her chair.

There was something Marianne needed to know before this conversation ended. Maybe it had nothing to do with Richard or Naomi or whatever lawyer they intended to send.

Maybe she simply needed the answer after all these years.

"I have a question, though."

"Of course."

"Do you hate me, Diana?"

Diana’s brows pulled together. "What? Why would you ask me that?"

"I killed your brother. Do you despise me for it?" Marianne asked.

"You said... it wasn’t on purpose. You told me the truth, right?" Diana asked.

Marianne forced the words out. "Yes, I did."

Diana nodded, apparently satisfied. "I’ll have Richard contact the lawyer."

"Of course." Marianne smiled faintly. "Thank you." She lowered the phone back onto its cradle.

Diana did the same.

Marianne rose from her chair and gave her a small wave through the glass. Diana returned it.

Then Marianne turned and walked back inside before she let herself cry.

She had heard every excuse Diana made for Richard. She knew those excuses too well.

He was short-tempered. He didn’t mean it. He was under pressure. He wasn’t really like that.

The words might have been different, but the rhythm was painfully familiar.

Marianne had done the same thing once.

Smoothed over ugliness and listening to Diana defend Richard had made one thing terrifyingly clear.

Something had gone terribly wrong. Now, Marianne had no choice.

She had to make sure Dorian got her out in time for her to truly be there for her daughter.

After all these years, Marianne could finally admit the truth to herself.

She had made a huge mistake leaving her child for someone else to raise, even when, at the time, she had believed she had no other choice.

*****

Dorian and Naomi had indeed gone house hunting.

At first, it had sounded romantic.

Then the eighth house happened.

Naomi was beginning to understand why people simply stayed where they were until death or foreclosure forced them out.

Dorian had rejected nearly everything they had seen with different excuses.

And his personal favourite complaint—

"Not intimate enough."

Naomi had stopped asking what that meant after house number five.

Dorian, meanwhile, was beginning to think he would have to build the damn thing from scratch.

Finding a house suitable for the kind of relationship he wanted with his wife was more complicated than preparing for trial.

Naomi looked exhausted.

He could see it even from the driver’s seat.

She had worked through most of yesterday after they returned from the hospital and had still gone to the restaurant afterward.

This morning, she had handled a breakfast order for a firm hosting two dozen people. And now he had dragged her across the city looking at houses he kept rejecting.

Dorian glanced at her.

Her head rested against the seat, eyes heavy.

"I’m sorry, babe."