“I am not asking for forever,” Maribel continued, her words rushed now. “Just long enough so my mother can stop worrying. You know how she is. She thinks something is wrong with me because I am alone.”
There was a pause, then a soft, muffled sound that Arthur realized was a stifled sob.
He should have turned around. He should have returned to his study and pretended he had heard nothing. That was how he maintained distance, by refusing to engage with lives that were not his own.
Instead, he stood there, listening.
“My cousin’s engagement party is this Saturday,” Maribel said, her voice cracking again. “Everyone will be there. My aunts, my uncles, people who ask questions they have no right to ask. My mother just wants peace. She wants to believe I am happy.”
Arthur felt an unexpected tightness in his chest. The situation sounded almost absurd, like a scene from a poorly written romantic film, yet the pain beneath it was unmistakable. This was not desperation for attention. It was exhaustion from carrying expectations that were never hers to begin with.
After a moment, Maribel sighed deeply. “I know, I know. I should not lie. But sometimes lying feels easier than explaining your whole life to people who do not really want to listen.”
Arthur heard the call end. He took a step back just as Maribel emerged from the kitchen, her eyes red, her apron still tied around her waist. When she saw him standing there, her face drained of color.
“Mr Bellamy,” she said quickly, panic creeping into her voice. “I am so sorry. I did not mean for you to hear any of that.”
Arthur raised his hand gently, surprising both of them. “You do not need to apologize. I was passing by. I did not intend to listen.”
Maribel nodded, gripping the fabric of her apron as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. “It is nothing important. I will handle it.”
Arthur hesitated, then asked a question he never would have allowed himself to ask before. “Is your mother unwell.”
Maribel looked down, then nodded slowly. “She has been ill for a while. Stress makes it worse. She worries about me constantly.”
The hallway felt smaller, the silence heavier.
“When is the party,” Arthur asked.
“This weekend,” she replied softly. “In a small town near Boone. I was planning to make an excuse.”