Daughter | Trilogy

Foreward

Act 3, final chapter, is in queue for release. My profile is updated for other works in progress.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate the continued constructive criticism and comments.

Warning:Yes. I am attempting a reconciliation... of sorts. Not a RAAC.

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Previously on Daughter: Book Three, Act One...

Julie struggles to pick up the pieces as her divorce from Tony is finalized.

Stripped of her identity as wife and mother, she flails between shame, misplaced hope, and desperate attempts to reconnect with her fractured family. Divorced, hurting, and uncertain whether forgiveness is even possible.

Julie begins therapy, and finally confronts the full wreckage of what she's lost.

Meanwhile, Tony battles his own ghosts, torn between the love he still feels and the betrayal he can't forget.

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ACT o2 | PURGATORIO

"Io non morì e non rimasi vivo."

"I did not die, and I was not alive."

-- Inferno, Canto XXXIV, line 25

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Chapter 01 | Shoebox

Thursday January 16 2025 | 10 AM

Two weeks had passed since the divorce became official.

Julie stood in the kitchen, barefoot, unmoving. The kettle had gone cold again. She hadn't even realized it had finished boiling.

The folder with the final papers sat on the counter, untouched. The last receipt of a debt she'd never be able to repay.

No tip required.

She poured water into her mug and nuked it in the microwave.

As she waited, the mellow sounds and lyrics to Poe's Haunted swirled around her.

There were so many significant memories of their lives in this kitchen. The cooking, the kids, the celebrations, the playful, lusty moments... but recently, only one memory kept playing in her mind. The day she tried to get Tony to accept her desire to open the marriage and have an affair. Her delusions against his unwavering integrity.

****

"It's my body, and my decision. You don't get a say in this. I say who gets it and when!" she started.

Tony's response had been quiet but devastating: "The vows were ours, Jules. The vows that you seem to have no problem breaking are OURS.

How does that not give me a say?"

****

She could still see his face, the way his expressions shifted from confusion to hurt to disbelief, and ultimately to anger. The words tasted bitter in her mouth now, each syllable a testament to her arrogance.

Julie raked her fingers through her scalp. "God, I was such a fucking idiot. Blind. Entitled. Delusional."

"Six Fridays. Almost two months with that bastard. And none of it will ever add up to what I lost."

Snapping back in the moment, she realized Poe was right... She was done crying for the woman she no longer was. It was time to gather up the splinters of that life, build a casket for those tears... and bury them.

2 weeks of grieving her divorce, after months of separation, was enough...

She gathered the sheets and dropped them in the mudroom. One more load of the past to wash clean.

She moved with purpose, yanking on the sheets like they'd wronged her. Each yank of the old sheets felt like pulling away another layer of her past self. The fresh linens represented more than just clean bedding... they were a statement of intent, a physical manifestation of her determination to move forward.

She wrapped them up and threw them on the floor by the door, for drop off in the laundry room.

Opening her linen closet, she pulled out new sheets and a fluffy down comforter. The comforter resisted. She yanked harder. The dull thud hitting the floor sent a chill through her chest.

"Oh, no... the shoebox." She thought.

She froze, staring at it like it was a live grenade. To anyone else, it looked like an ordinary box that once held winter boots. But to Julie, it was "the memory box."

"Fuck..." The impact had scattered several folded pieces of notebook paper across the hallway floor.

Not just any notes... their notes. Small fragments of their college romance preserved in careful creases and fading ink. Her hands trembled as she gathered each one, memories flooding back with every touch. Their secret names, inside jokes, dreams of a future they'd actually built... and now lost.

Even their teasing notes weren't innocent. They brimmed with playful threats and vivid promises, each one a window into the wild, tender hunger they had for each other. She grinned, recalling the gleeful detail she once used to map out exactly how she'd "devour him" when they were alone. The words had faded, but the memory still made her blush.

'My first attempt at writing pornography,' she thought, chuckling to herself.

Back then, lust and laughter were always intertwined.

Box in hand, Julie made her way to the bed, her determination to move forward wavering. She sat on the edge of the bed, the box a heavy weight beside her. It represented everything she'd been... everything they'd been... before she'd let delusion poison their love.

She pulled herself onto the bed and sat in a lotus position. Carefully placing the box in front of her.

Her fingers paused on the worn lid.

With measured breath, she flipped open the lid and looked down at her memories.

Sheets of loose leaf paper folded into compact square and triangle shapes, which made it easier to pass to each other between buildings and classes. Each folded note felt like a timestamp of their love story... the paper worn soft from years of rereading, creases deepened by countless careful unfoldings.

She smelled the scent of stale cologne and perfume on some of them.

Under the notes were the cards. Mostly birthdays and valentine's day. And the pictures. 35mm and a few polaroids.

Looking at the contents, she felt sad that current generations would never have this. Nobody wrote notes anymore, and saving texts and digital images wasn't the same.

These handwritten notes, some with illustrations, were now... priceless.

She pulled up a polaroid.

Tony was asleep in the library, mouth open, his head resting on his Business Ethics textbook. She'd caught him napping after pulling an all-nighter for his MBA application essays.

Tucked behind the photo is her note from that day: "You looked so peaceful I couldn't wake you. Left you coffee and a muffin at the desk. Ti Amo, my sleepy entrepreneur. - Julie."

She remembers how he'd shown up at her dorm later that evening with the empty styrofoam cup, on which he'd drawn a tiny heart next to a rough sketch of their future house... complete with a writing nook for her. On the bottom of the cup, he'd scrawled "ROI = Return On Italian," his typical blend of business speak and jokes about their cultural differences.

She flipped through the items to see if she kept the cup, only to find that she had cut it with a scissor, but kept the important pieces.

She placed them back into the box as a small envelope caught her eye.

Inside were small fragments of paper resembling confetti until the memory hit her. They were fragments of the first love note she'd ever written him, which he'd accidentally run through the washing machine in his jeans pocket.

He'd carefully collected every piece and brought them to her, devastated. They tried to piece it together like a jigsaw puzzle, but the reconstructed note read more like a ransom note than the spicy one where Julie expressed how she couldn't wait to "pounce on him later that evening."

"These are amazing memories," she thought. "When did I stop seeing him?"

She placed the items back in the box carefully and sealed it, her fingers lingering on its worn edges. She pressed the lid closed. Those notes belonged to another Julie... one who hadn't yet gambled on what she couldn't afford to lose.

But maybe that hard won wisdom could serve some purpose beyond her own guilt. She snuck it back into the linen closet for another day.

She picked up the dirty sheets and dropped them off in the mudroom downstairs. Pouring herself a glass of water from the fridge, she sat on the counter, remembering one conversation they had via the notes. They wrote about their vision of marital success.

She explained about the three pillars of marriage that she learned in a psych class. Trust, respect and love. A couple could survive losing one of those pillars, but two?

Tony's reply was simple. "That would be game over for me." And she agreed.

Julie knew how hard the job in front of her would be. Rebuilding Tony's trust was like trying to restore her destroyed love letter... he words survived. But some lines were ruined, too dark to read.

During her sessions with Dr. Bowne, they went through the stages of grief. She had been angry at Tony. But mostly, she'd turned it inward, furious at herself for torching the best thing she ever had.

She tried bargaining with Tony, by offering him anything he wanted, including her body as the prize, only to be rebuffed, which then spiraled her into a depression.

But today was different. Now that the divorce was final, she felt... sort of free. This must be acceptance. The last phase of grief. Well... it still sucked to be alone without Tony.

Looking back, the one question she could never fully answer was... why? Why do it? Dr. Bowne kept asking, Tony asked... repeatedly. But even she found her responses to be... weak.

"Why?" The question was with no answer.

As an accomplished writer, her best work was when she took her actions and life to task. Probed the reasons she, or society, did things the way they did. How have societal trends changed with the advent and usage of social media?

In fact, it was these questions that led her down the rabbit hole. She was living proof of how even the most intelligent and accomplished individual could make poor decisions, especially when emotionally vulnerable.

It was time to investigate the only subject she'd ever truly avoided... herself.

She could explore her downfall and help others avoid the heartbreak of losing those that they held dear in their lives. Old Julie was insightful, even funny. This version would bleed on the page.

After months of silence, Julie felt her creativity smolder within her.

The urge to write rose in her like a wildfire, familiar yet different from before. This wouldn't be just another story... This would be her confession, her warning, her attempt to make sense of how a woman could have everything she'd ever wanted and still reach for more. Her fingers itched for a keyboard, her mind already arranging words into sentences, seeking patterns in the chaos of her choices.

Her thoughts cycled through so many options... She would create a personal blog to explore these topics, or she could write her second book. Her first book targeted and helped young mothers through pregnancy and childcare. This one would attempt to help women like her... struggling with old age and becoming invisible.

No... She would do both.

Use those poorly written journals and rewrite them into blog posts. She would create an overall theme around the posts. Then launch a site for the posts and reach other women. The posts, and any reader interaction, could then become the basis for her book.

She wiped her sleeve against her face. She still cried, but this time, something in the tears felt like hope.

The doorbell chime startled her from her thoughts. She wasn't expecting visitors, especially not today, when she'd finally found the strength to face her past. Through the curtains, she glimpsed a familiar figure that made her heart skip... Elle, Jon's mother, standing on her doorstep like an answer to an unspoken prayer.

"Eleanor... sorry Elle, what a surprise." Julie said, opening the door. The woman before her looked both familiar and changed, carrying herself with the same careful dignity Julie recognized in herself these days... another wife who'd walked through fire.

They had spoken during Thanksgiving at Sara and Jon's. Did she forget she invited Elle over? "No, that wasn't it."

"Please come in. It's chilly out there," said Julie as she stepped back into her home.

But Elle... stood there for a second. Something in her expression made Julie pause. They'd always been friendly... more than just in-law pleasant, less than truly close. But there was an urgency in Elle's eyes now, a need that Julie recognized.

Julie's eyes widened as her journalistic training kicked in.

That look...

She'd seen it before.

It was the same look she saw every morning in the mirror.

The look of someone carrying a story that needed telling.

Someone seeking understanding from perhaps the only person who might truly comprehend.

Chapter 02 | Breaking the Silence

"Thank you, Julie. I'm sorry I didn't call first. I hope I'm not intruding," Elle said, her voice carrying the hesitancy of someone crossing an invisible boundary.

"Not at all. It's actually a pleasant break from all the quiet around here. Here, let me take your coat." She gathered Elle's coat, noting how the other woman's shoulders stayed tense even after removing the winter weight. Julie hung it in the entryway closet.

"Thank you. Honestly, this is the second time I've tried to gather the courage to talk with you."

"Elle... Come, can I get you a coffee or tea?" Asked Julie.

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you."

"Of course. Let's sit on the kitchen counter while I get it ready."

The kitchen, usually a space of solitude these days, felt different with Elle perched at the counter.

Julie busied herself with the kettle, grateful for the familiar routine as she arranged holiday cookies on a tray... leftovers from Sara's Christmas day dinner. Julie found Elle's demeanor a little concerning, but didn't want to push her into an unwanted conversation. Something was up and she would find out soon enough.

Julie placed the cookie tray on the counter, along with two deep mugs. She then brought over the hot water and a small wooden box. "Different tea packets are in there. Hopefully, there is one that you like."

"They're all good, but I'll have the green tea to start."

They prepared their teas in silence. Elle swirled her tea, then wrapped her tea bag around her spoon with methodical focus, as if the simple act could delay the conversation ahead, before placing it on the saucer.

"Elle, I'm sorry for asking, but is everything Ok?"

Elle looked up at her and gave a weak smile. "No, not really. Nothing has been ok for the last 12 years. But I think I'm ready to change that."

Julie gave Elle a look of compassion, but allowed her to continue.

"I know we are not as close as we should be. That's my fault. I didn't handle my family's situation correctly from the beginning and allowed it to change me into a person who I hate. I know a little of what you have been going through and when we spoke at Thanksgiving... and I realized you could use the one thing that I didn't have... a friend."

Julie sighed as she placed her hand over Elle's. "I... I would like that." The gesture bridged more than physical distance... it connected two women who'd learned the hard way how easily love could slip through careful fingers.

After taking a sip of her tea, Elle asked, "How much do you know about the circumstances around my marriage? Has Jon said anything?"

"He told us a little. I never pushed. He was clearly hurting. What I gathered was... he walked in on your husband and the neighbor. He ran, told you right away, and in the fallout, you retaliated. But then... you and your husband stayed together, and the house turned toxic."

She could see tears forming in Elle's eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"No." Said Elle "I need to hear it. That would be how he remembered the story, since I did nothing to change it. I behaved so badly back then. My husband may have been a serial cheater and a liar, but I destroyed my family by not fighting to protect it."

Elle could see the confusion in Julie's eyes.

Elle's fingers traced the rim of her mug.

"You see Julie. What the boys don't know..." Elle paused, her voice cracking, "is that I never actually cheated."

She let the words hang, then added, "I just... let everyone believe I did."

"What?" Said Julie.

"In a stupid, misguided way, I rationalized I would hurt my husband the same way that he hurt me."

Julie's eyes opened wide as the implication sunk in. "But why keep the secret for so long? Jon has been so hurt..." Julie whispered, her own recent failures suddenly cast in a new light. "Why didn't you tell them?"

Elle's laugh cracked under decades of regret. "How do you tell your children that you let them believe a lie? That you were so broken by their father's betrayal that pretending to be equally guilty seemed... easier somehow?"

"My greatest shame as a mother was not being in the right mental space to help my sons."

"Let me explain..." said Elle.

"I knew something was wrong the day Jon ran into my office," Elle began.

"I pulled him into a side room, and he told me everything he saw. It shattered my world."

"The fight that night with my husband was... brutal. He blamed me for his infidelity, insisted it was just sex, meaningless. But it wasn't meaningless to me. I loved him. We were intimate. We were a family."

"I became a ghost in my home. I threw out the living room set. Then I found out... it wasn't just the neighbor. There were others. In our bed. Our home. That's when something inside me broke."

"I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me. I started going out, staying away late. I wanted him to wonder. To worry. I flirted with the idea of revenge... but I couldn't do it. I couldn't break my vows, even after he shattered his."

She snorted as she looked down at her mug. "I was so nervous when men tried to hit on me that I laughed. Laughed right in their faces. It wasn't even about them. It was about the absurdity that after everything... I still belonged to him. To the promises we made."

"But by then, Jon and Stephen were gone. Grown. And I... stayed. I stayed in a toxic house because I was too ashamed to leave. Divorce was a failure in my world, Julie. Worse than betrayal."

"I thought about telling the boys the truth. A thousand times. But how can you make them understand you were too broken to protect them?"

She met Julie's eyes, voice trembling. "My greatest failure wasn't staying with him. It was letting Jon and Stephen carry the wrong story in their hearts and drift away."

Julie could only nod. Tony's similar words about vows echoing in her mind.

"I couldn't get rid of the feeling of disgust for him and anger at how my life turned out. I didn't have the courage to divorce him. I thought he could change... We were in love once. Why not again? But that never happened."

"In the end, I started going to a therapy group and met friends that understood. We would spend a few nights together and talk, which was good, as it kept me away from him and let me heal."

"He moved out nearly two years ago. We completed the divorce quietly... no announcements, no explanations."

Julia rose from her chair and embraced Elle in a warm hug. Both women could feel each other's bodies tremble as emotions poured from their eyes.

"You need to tell them the truth. Or they'll carry the wrong story forever," said Julie.

"What good will that do? They've moved on. Your Sara is such a wonderful young woman and I hear Stephen has met someone new. I don't want to bring anymore pain into their lives."

"No. You're wrong... They are both still hurting, just dealing with it in different ways. I know because I also hurt my family with my delusional stupidity. Jon and Sara are starting a family soon. Don't you want to be a part of that?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she said, "Of course I do... I've held onto this anger for so long..."