Chapter 12 - Blythe’s Version of Love
Blythe requested to meet Merritt alone.
Naomi advised against it.
Merritt agreed.
Then went anyway—with Naomi waiting in the next room of the hotel suite.
Blythe entered carrying no purse.
No jewelry except her wedding ring.
She looked smaller without the silver gown and diamonds.
For a moment Merritt saw the mother who used to braid her hair before school.
That was the cruelty of memory.
It preserved tenderness beside harm and refused to tell you which one had been real.
Blythe sat.
“I didn’t want Judson to use the card.”
Merritt said nothing.
“I told him it was too risky.”
“But not wrong.”
Blythe’s eyes filled.
“We were desperate.”
“For a wedding?”
“For everything.”
Merritt waited.
Blythe clasped her hands.
“Your father’s business has been failing for two years.”
“And you hid it.”
“He was ashamed.”
“So you stole.”
“We borrowed.”
Merritt almost smiled.
“You both use the same word.”
“Because we planned to repay it.”
“You forged my authorization.”
Blythe looked away.
“That was Judson’s idea.”
“You used my computer.”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
The admission was barely audible.
Merritt felt nothing at first.
Then grief arrived slowly.
“You sat in my office while I was drugged from surgery.”
“You were asleep.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I knew where the document was. Judson walked me through it.”
“You searched for my signature.”
Blythe’s voice broke.
“I thought if we created the form, it would buy us time.”
“Time for what?”
“The refinance.”
“Against a house I partly own.”
Blythe flinched.
“You would have been paid.”
“I didn’t consent.”
“We raised you in that house.”
“And therefore you own my signature?”
“No.”
“My job?”
“No.”
“My reputation?”
“No.”
“Then what did you think you owned?”
Blythe began crying.
Merritt hated that she still wanted to comfort her.
Her mother’s tears had always been a lever.
Sometimes deliberately.
Sometimes not.
“Merritt, when you were a child, you were so independent.”
Merritt’s expression hardened.
“That’s the story you tell.”
“It’s true.”
“No. It’s the excuse.”
Blythe stared.
Merritt continued.
“You say I didn’t need much, so you could give Sloan more. You say I was strong, so you could ask me for money. You say I was independent, so you didn’t have to protect me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Was it fair to tell Sloan I paid for things I never paid for?”
Blythe froze.
Merritt saw confirmation.
“Why?”
Blythe wiped her cheeks.
“Because she was embarrassed.”
“About what?”
“That we couldn’t afford what her friends had.”
“So you made me the invisible wallet.”
“You were successful.”
“That is not an answer.”
Blythe looked down.
“We wanted her to feel secure.”
Merritt swallowed.
“And what did you want me to feel?”
Blythe had no response.
There it was.
The silence Merritt had been chasing for years.
Not hatred.
Not some secret reason.
Just hierarchy.
Sloan’s feelings had been urgent.
Merritt’s had been durable.
Therefore Merritt’s could wait.
Blythe whispered, “I love you.”
Merritt’s eyes burned.
“I believe you.”
Blythe looked surprised.
Merritt continued.
“I think that’s what makes this harder.”
“Merritt—”
“You loved me and still did this.”
Blythe cried openly.
Merritt did not move.
“Did Sloan know about the corporate card?”
“Not specifically.”
“The fake authorization?”
“No.”
“The earlier charges?”
“No.”
“Did Judson know you used my computer?”
“Yes.”
“Did Peter Shaw know where the money came from?”
Blythe hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“That means probably.”
“Merritt, please.”
“What?”
“Don’t send your father to prison.”
The sentence struck with almost physical force.
Not Don’t send me.
Your father.
Even now, Blythe’s instinct was to protect him.
“What about you?” Merritt asked.
Blythe stared.
“You forged my signature too.”
“I know.”
“Are you asking me to protect you?”
Blythe shook her head slowly.
“No.”
For the first time, she sounded honest.
“I’m asking you to do what I never did.”
Merritt said nothing.
“Make him stop.”
Behind the adjoining door, Naomi remained silent.
Merritt looked at her mother and understood something painful.
Blythe had not only participated in Judson’s system.
She had lived inside it so long she no longer knew where protecting him ended and betraying everyone else began.
But understanding was not absolution.
Merritt stood.
“I can’t save you from what you chose.”
Blythe nodded.
“I know.”
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It was the first time her mother had ever accepted a boundary without fighting it.
And somehow that made Merritt want to cry more than any argument had.
