Chapter Text
July 1st, 2026
R in the hospital.
Don't even know what set him off. I'm not sure he knew what set him off. He hit me, then put his hands on my throat.
I kicked him until he let go. He looked at me like he was confused why I was there. His face was astonishingly empty, like he didn't even recognize me as I backed away. It was so quick it made me dizzy.
I barricaded myself in my suite. Dragged my hope chest in front of the door in case he tried to follow after. I called Jason.
I haven't spoken to him since before the wedding. I don't know why he picked up. It was the first ring. He asked me, "what's wrong?" and I asked him how he knew. He laughed, quiet and sad, and told me "You wouldn't have called me otherwise".
He called 911 for me. Sent an ambulance and the police. They took Rex downtown in the bus and I rode behind in the squad car. Jason met us at the hospital, all dressed up in drag; I suppose I should say "she"?
I was crying too hard to speak. I couldn't tell her it was because I missed my son terribly.
Her husband still despises me and has been glaring at me since they walked through the door. I don't suppose I blame him. He keeps a hand on Jason's Ruby's lower back like he wants to reassure her he's there.
R used to do that for me when everything was new, before it turned sour. I can't pinpoint the exact time. If he hadn't given up on his marriage to a barren harpy like me, he wouldn't have stepped out with Beryl in the first place, so it must have been before Thalia was born. I think the last time I remember him doing it to me was after my first miscarriage, before it became clear that I was of no use to him for giving him progeny.
I didn't hug her when they arrived. P probably wouldn't have let me anyway. I just stood there crying, looking like a fool, no makeup, hair unstyled, not even dressed; I was still in my nightgown. She stopped just short of me, like she wasn't sure she wanted to offer. P took over by moving things along, asking pointedly and concisely for a "damage report". I think that's a reference to a TV show. I could barely speak; my throat was hoarse and I'm still not sure if it was because of my husband's hands or my own tears.
I gave them the broad strokes I was given. R has been diagnosed with dementia, he was sedated as soon as he arrived and all I've been able to do is sit beside him and wait. The neurologist told me there's no way to diagnose it for sure without examining the brain after death, but that R is showing signs and symptoms of stage 3 CTE, and it may be time to consider placing him in a care facility.
I haven't made up my mind yet. They say I don't have to right away, but as his wife and medical proxy I have to make decisions for him now that he's considered incapacitated, and it will come down to me eventually. I know what everyone wants me to do, but every time I think about it I feel sick.
It was Ruby's idea to walk down to the cafeteria. Brilliant as always. I think she knew I needed a change of scenery. All three of us got coffee. P led me to an empty table while Ruby ordered and brought over the tray. I didn't like the way he was looking at me, but he didn't make any snide comments; he just listened and interjected occasionally while Ruby made small talk with me and I picked at the toast she got for me. (She remembered, even after all these years, that I enjoy marmalade. I couldn't even finish a single half slice.)
They have children with Annabeth: two-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, and another baby due in October. I knew about them, but I've never met them. I never would have gotten the opportunity before. Ruby told me, firmly and with that same spark of righteous fire I remember from when she was little, that she would sooner die than allow her father in the same room as her kids.
"We decided before they were born that they'd never have to grow up walking on eggshells like I did."
It wounded me. I don't know if she did that on purpose. I know she remembers the scene I made when my mother "spanked" (slapped) her for making a mess because she wasn't given age-appropriate glassware for her juice; she's told me she remembers it "vividly".
I couldn't tell whether she was reassuring me or taking me to task. She kept curling a strand of hair around her finger. She's been wearing a headscarf lately; the last time I saw her was before she went back to her mother's traditions.
I haven't seen her curls since I had to shave them off when she was three. They're gorgeous, even with such garish coloring. She's so pretty blonde, but she only ever dyes her hair in pastels. She says she doesn't want to look like she's trying to mask her grays, because they decided as a family to model healthy attitudes towards aging for the twins. "I'm a woman in my thirties; I want to look like a woman in my thirties."
I love her as she is, of course, but the same thing happened when she came out as bisexual: my first thought was fear for her safety. The world is cruel, and she's always been too soft for her own good. But when we got back to R's room and they sent for the neurologist again, she stood up tall and straight, and stayed even and measured the whole time she was speaking with him. She was trembling a little, but her voice was strong and steady.
It was a little jarring, to be honest. I don't expect a voice like that to come out of a face that pretty and feminine. I tried not to show it on my own face, but I must have, because Percy kept giving me dirty looks.
He never believed me about her dress— I could tell by the way he looked at me when I made my excuses about the dogs. I feel foolish and pathetic for ever trying to conceal my shame; if Percy weren't so bright and perceptive, I doubt my daughter would have fallen for him.
it's past 1 in the morning. We're staying tonight at Ruby's in-laws' apartment, and we'll go back to the townhouse tomorrow so that I can get my essentials. After that, I'll go home with them "until we figure out something more permanent." I can tell P wasn't thrilled with the idea, but for some reason he held his tongue.
There's something in the looks he's giving me. Disdain, suspicion, certainly; strangely, I swear I've seen pity in his eyes, too. He reminds me of how angry R used to get when I told him stories about my parents, before everything.
They say stage 3 is where the mood swings and inappropriate outbursts have given way to dementia, and eventually will lead to death. The sweet young man he was, my Saint Michael who rescued me from the devil, is already dead; he's been gone for decades now.
Maybe he was never really there. Father always told me I was stupid and flighty; it would be like me to invent something so fanciful and ridiculous.
–
I stopped writing because Percy interrupted my self-indulgent spiral of pity. He couldn't sleep either; Ruby, he told me, has been staying awake with their son to soothe him through his nightmares, and she's so exhausted "she could probably fall asleep standing up like a horse".
I told him she used to get them when she was that age. He gave me a lopsided smile and said he knew that; she told him the first time it happened with their little one. Quincy is his name. He's shy, sensitive and anxious, but also curious and sweet, which is very much like Ruby was when she was little. He's even a precocious reader like she was, and is already sounding out simple words from his storybooks. His sister Bonnie hasn't started reading yet, but she's talking up a storm and running everywhere her little legs will carry her.
P lit up like a marquee the whole time he was telling me about them. He showed me some pictures on his phone: they're being very strict about keeping them off social media and maintaining their privacy, which he told me with a quirk to his eyebrow that made me feel like it was a judgment against me. It probably was, and I would deserve it either way.
I almost wonder if he was trying to show me he understands, in some way. He's been softer with me tonight than he ever has before. It's a long drive from LI, and it was just the two of them. They've always communicated easily, even when they were just friends; there's no doubt in my mind that they were comfortable enough to talk about this as they drove up to meet me.
P also showed me a darling photo of Annabeth asleep with the twins curled against her and a book in her hand. He smiled like he couldn't help it and lightly touched the image of her stomach before he moved on. The next picture was of the twins, Annabeth and my daughter at the beach, the former two held by the latter as they played in the shallow water.
I asked him if he was trying to say something specific. He gave me that wry smile again, the one that used to remind me of my husband. (This time, I could see the difference; that spark of passion, the sense of protective adoration, is something R let go of before he even graduated college. P turns 33 in August: the same age I was when I took Jason in.)
He told me he wanted me to see how they look at each other. I followed his point. I don't understand it, but a small part of me wonders if something like their arrangement might have made things different for us.
None of it matters anymore. My son in law told me that all you can do is move forward. I didn't know how to handle his support and I think he suspected, because he also told me "really, you need to talk to my mom; if anyone's going to understand staying in an abusive marriage to protect your kid, it'll be her".
We'll see if I can bring myself to. It's nearly 4 AM, and P decided to go lie next to his wife and hug her even if he can't sleep. I think he might have been trying to reassure me that he wasn't leaving my baby alone. Maybe being a father has matured him somewhat; it's strange to me, watching a man fall so naturally and excitedly into parenting.
If nothing else— his little boy will grow up loved and cared for. Ruby said it was breaking a cycle.
I don't trust anyone but her, which I suppose means I should accept her judgments about the trustworthiness of others. I've never learned from this sort of hard lesson before, but maybe P is right.
"The best time to plant a tree is fifteen years ago. The second-best time is now."