122 The Unspoken Judgment
122 The Unspoken Judgment
Cora shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t…” she started, then glanced at me with panicked eyes. “Mom, I didn’t bring a present for Great–Grandma.”
“Careful on the stairs, Coco,” I cautioned automatically.
“I can’t wait to see it,” I smiled, then noticed Maria appearing with Cora’s overnight bag. “Thank you, Maria.”
“What a beautiful girl you are, Cora,” Clara said warmly. “Thank you for coming to celebrate with an old lady like me.”
“Maria has prepared everything.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “She’s included the dress Cora will wear tomorrow.”
Of course he had. Damien Thorne never missed an opportunity to fulfill social obligations with expensive presents that required zero personal involvement.
Mr. Finch reappeared from the direction of the dining room. “Mr. Thorne, dinner will be served in twenty minutes. Will Ms. Vance and Miss Cora be joining you?”
Mr. Finch, the butler, greeted me at the door with his usual formality. “Good evening, Ms. Vance. Please come in. Miss Cora is just gathering her things.”
The next morning dawned bright and clear–perfect weather for Clara’s garden party. Cora woke early, bouncing with energy as she helped arrange flowers and set up decorations in the backyard.
“Did she mention Damien?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“I won’t be attending Clara’s birthday celebration.”
The realization left a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper than the champagne I sipped to wash it away.
Just two weeks ago, I’d overheard Cora on the phone with Damien, excitedly discussing the handmade bracelet they were crafting for Vivienne’s birthday. She’d spent hours selecting beads, practicing the pattern, insisting on perfection for “Auntie Vivi.”
Later, after tucking Cora into bed in the guest room, I joined my parents for a glass of
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122 The Unspoken Judgment
wine in the kitchen.
I nodded, knowing better than to check the suitability of whatever outfit had been chosen. Any suggestion that I might want to review it would only create tension.
“Don’t apologize for him,” she replied firmly. “Never that.”
I bit back a wry comment. “That’s sweet of him.”
“Elara,” he acknowledged, finally looking at me. His eyes swept over me briefly. “Cora will be down in a moment.”
“Fine,” I answered automatically. “Work is busy. YodaVision is growing faster than expected.”
Without further pleasantries, the call ended. I stared at my phone screen, noting the call duration: one minute and seventeen seconds. Our conversations had become efficient, if nothing else.
“Yes, her favorite–lemon with raspberry filling,” I replied, parking the car. “Are you excited to see her?”
“Thank you,
Mr. Finch.” I stepped into the foyer, instantly noticing small changes since my last visit: New artwork adorned the walls. The fragrance in the air was different- jasmine and sandalwood instead of the lily scent I had preferred.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?” I asked Cora, taking the bag from Maria.
“Is she packed for the weekend?” I asked.
“Thank you,” I said, the politeness automatic after years of practice.
“Thank you, Mr. Finch,” I said softly. “But even if invited, we wouldn’t be able to stay. We have plans this evening.”
I hadn’t expected anything different, yet disappointment still pricked at me. Not for
in life–but for
my
my grandmother, myself–I’d long stopped hoping for his presence who still held a fondness for him despite everything.
She hadn’t.
Heavy footsteps on the marble staircase announced Damien’s arrival before I saw him. He descended with his characteristic confidence, phone in hand, barely glancing up as
122 The Unspoken Judgment
he reached the bottom step.
If Mr. Finch was surprised by Damien’s curt response, he didn’t show it. “Very good, sir. I’ll inform the kitchen.”
Before I could politely decline, Damien answered for us. “No. Elara is taking Cora to the Vance residence tonight.”
“I missed you,” I whispered against her head.
And the truth was, I’d known this would happen. I had deliberately chosen not to remind Cora about preparing something for Clara. A small, hurt part of me had wanted to see if my daughter would remember on her own, if she would show the same enthusiasm she demonstrated for Vivienne without prompting.
“Everything’s set,” Clara assured me. “Eleanor called earlier–she’s bringing her famous elderflower punch.”
Inside, my mother greeted us warmly, fussing over Cora immediately. “Look how much you’ve grown since I saw you last month! Are you hungry, darling? I’ve made your favorite chicken pasta.”
Sure enough, we found Dad dozing in his recliner, a documentary about ancient Rome playing softly on the television. He startled awake when Cora bounded over to him.
– For Clara–my grandmother who had been present at every milestone in Cora’s life,
who sent thoughtful gifts for every occasion, who never missed a school performance -there hadn’t even been a card.
“We should get going,” I said, gently guiding Cora toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Finch, Maria.”
Cora’s face lit up. “With the cheesy bread?”
“I’ll pick her
up
then.”
He bent down to accept her quick hug, his large hand patting her back awkwardly. The gesture was brief but genuine–one of the few times Damien’s emotional walls seemed to crack even slightly.
The evening passed pleasantly, with Cora delighting in being the center of attention. After dinner, she helped Mom frost cookies for tomorrow’s celebration while I called Clara to confirm final arrangements.
3/6
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122 The Unspoken Judgment
“There’s my favorite girl!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a bear hug.
“And the divorce proceedings?” Dad asked bluntly.
“How are things?” Mom asked, her question loaded with unspoken concern.
As I watched Cora laughing with relatives, seemingly recovered from her momentary distress, I acknowledged the unspoken judgment I’d passed–not just on my
seven–year–old daughter, but on myself. What kind of mother tests her child this way? What was I hoping to prove?
I heard the patter of small feet upstairs, and seconds later, Cora appeared at the top of the staircase, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Her eyes lit up when she saw
- me.
“Mom!” she called out, rushing down the stairs with a small backpack clutched in her hands.
Clara, overhearing, smoothly interjected. “Absolutely! Having you here is all I wanted, darling.”
Cora’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but the shadow of embarrassment remained on her face. As she was pulled away by a second cousin eager to show her the dessert table, I found myself watching her with a strange heaviness in my chest.
– “I’ve arranged for a gift to be delivered,” he added, his tone businesslike. “It should
arrive tomorrow morning.”
“Is Great–Grandma going to have a big cake?” Cora asked as we pulled into my parents‘ driveway.
Vivienne’s touches, no doubt.
Cora nodded enthusiastically, then turned to Damien. “Bye, Dad! See you on Sunday!”
“Uh–huh,” Cora nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Dad said I should give her a big hug from him.”
“No, thank you. We should get going soon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said reflexively!
Damien’s words came through my phone speaker with typical finality. No apology. No
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122 The Unspoken Judgment
explanation: Just a statement of fact delivered in his usual detached manner.
She slowed marginally before launching herself into my arms once she reached the bottom. I hugged her tightly, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.
Damien’s expression softened fractionally as he looked down at our daughter. “Be good for your mother, Cora. I’ll see you after the weekend.”
Elara’s POV
A brief silence stretched between us before he spoke again. “Cora will be ready at six on Friday.”
Clara sighed. “No, dear. But I didn’t expect him to come.”
Friday evening arrived faster than I’d anticipated. The Thorne mansion loomed ahead as I drove through the gates, its imposing facade gleaming in the fading sunlight. Once, I’d lived behind those walls, desperately trying to transform a cold house into a warm home.
Mr. Finch offered a small, kind smile. “Of course, Ms. Vance.”
“Of course,” Mom smiled, winking at me over Cora’s head. “Your grandfather is in the living room, probably falling asleep in front of the history channel again.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Everything she’ll need is packed, Ms. Vance.”
That Cora cared more about Vivienne than her own family? That Damien’s influence was turning her away from me? Or perhaps more truthfully, that I had reason to feel the growing resentment that sometimes threatened to consume me?
Of course he wasn’t. Damien Thorne didn’t fight for things he didn’t want.
Just before two o’clock, Clara made her entrance, elegant in a pale blue dress that highlighted her still–vibrant eyes. Cora rushed to greet her with a hug, but I noticed her fidgeting nervously as Clara bent to kiss her cheek.
“Good evening, Ms. Vance,” Mr. Finch replied. “Miss Cora.”
She pulled back, her expression bright. “I drew you a picture at school! It’s in my bag.” As we walked to my car, I felt Damien’s eyes on us from the doorway. I didn’t look back. I swirled the wine in my glass. “Moving forward. Damien isn’t contesting anything.”
122 The Unspoken Judgment
As guests began arriving around noon, I noticed Cora growing increasingly quiet. She kept glancing at the gifts table, her expression troubled.
The realization dawned on her face, morphing from confusion to embarrassment. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I forgot to make something.”
“Would you care for some tea while you wait?” Mr. Finch offered.
The drive to the Vance residence was filled with Cora’s animated chatter about school and the latest video game Damien had bought her. I listened attentively, asking questions at the right moments, while part of my mind wandered to tomorrow’s celebration.
I kept my expression neutral, though her words stirred something deep inside me. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your hug is the best gift Great–Grandma could ask for.”
“I see,” I replied evenly. “I’ll let her know.”
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