Page 134 of The Temporary Bride

When I reach her house, the familiar façade seems both comforting and strange. The doorbell feels stiff beneath my finger, and I hold it down a beat longer than necessary.

The door opens, and my mother’s face appears, surprise lighting in her eyes. “Tristan. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I fucked up,” I say, not bothering with a greeting.

She’s silent for a moment, taking in my expression. Then she opens the door wider.

“You’d better come in.”

As I step into the foyer, I catch a whiff of cinnamon, which surprises me a bit. My mother’s never been much of a cook. “Are you… baking?”

She chuckles, waving a hand. “Not me. Stephanie. I hired a new home chef, and she’s absolutely wonderful.”

“What’s cooking?”

“Apple fritters, I think,” my mother says, smiling as she glances toward the kitchen.

“You seem… happier,” I venture, following her toward the living room.

She gives me a small smile, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “I suppose I am. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? Over time…” She trails off, not finishing her sentence.

We settle on the plush couches, and my mother’s new home cook—Stephanie—appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel.

“You must be one of Camille’s sons,” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, this is Tristan.” My mother gestures toward me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tristan. Ma’am, do you two want something to drink, or⁠—”

My mother smiles at Stephanie, making a gentle shooing motion. “Stephanie, we’ve talked about this. You’re my chef, not my butler, and I won’t take advantage of you. If we want a drink, I can get it myself.”

Stephanie gives a small, polite nod and withdraws, leaving the two of us alone.

My mother settles back into her chair, and I glance around the room as I take in the small changes that mark the passage of time since my last visit. The furniture has been rearranged—a grand piano now occupies a prominent spot in the corner, and a new painting hangs on the wall, adding a splash of color that wasn’t there before.

“It’s good to see you’re making adjustments. Seems like things are moving in a positive direction here.”

“Yes, well, it’s important to make some changes now and then. Helps keep things fresh.” Her gaze turns more serious. “But enough about me. How are you really doing, Tristan?”

“I’m… struggling,” I admit. The words start to pour out of me. “Chloe and I had a big argument. It’s more than just a fight. I made some serious mistakes, and now I’m trying to fix them. But I’m not sure if it’s enough.”

My mother’s eyebrows knit together. “Gabriel called me earlier. He explained the situation with MediaSphere. Does it have something to do with that?”

“Indirectly.” I start to explain the details of the night I accused Chloe of the MediaSphere breach. My mother listens, and I find myself giving up more of the specifics than I have in other retellings.

When I’m finished, she purses her lips. “That explains why you look so troubled.”

“I just don’t know how to fix things. I’ve made so many mistakes. I should have trusted Chloe. I should never have said those things…”

She places a hand on mine. “We all make mistakes, but what matters is how we handle them afterward. It’s clear you’re sorry, and that’s the first step toward making things right.”

“But I’m not sure where to go from there. I don’t know what’s next. All I know is that I can’t do this without her. That I love her.”

It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. My mother’s eyes widen, her expression softening into something almost like relief. She takes a deep breath, then nods, as if absorbing what I just said.

“Tristan,” she begins, her voice quiet but firm, “admitting that you love someone and that you need them is a huge step. It means you’re ready to do what it takes to fight for your relationship. It’s not always going to be easy, but you’ve acknowledged what’s at stake.”

She hesitates for a moment, sitting back.