The Consequences of That Night

heart.
    “I’m sorry,” Cesare said, looking at her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
    “No. You’re right.” Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “But others have loved me. My parents. My mother died when I was four, even younger than you were. Ovarian cancer. Just like...” She stopped herself. Just like I almost did, she’d almost said.
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. And my father was an amazing man. After my mom died, it was just the two of us. He gave me my work ethic, my sense of honor, everything.” She pressed her lips together. “Then he fell in love with a coworker at his factory....”
    “Cruel stepmother, huh?”
    “She was never cruel.” She sobered. “At least not at first. I was glad to see my father happy, but I started to feel like I was in their way. An outsider interrupting their honeymoon.” She glanced up at the waiter, who’d just brought their meals. He set the cheeseburger and fries before her with the same flourish he used on Cesare’s venison and risotto with black truffle sauce. It must have been hard for him, she thought, so she gave him a grateful smile. “Merci.”
    “So you left home?” Cesare prompted after the waiter left.
    “Well.” She dipped a fry into a ramekin of ketchup, then chewed it thoughtfully. It was hot and salty and delicious. She licked her lips, then her fingers. “At sixteen, I fell head over heels for a boy.”
    Cesare seemed uninterested in his own food as he listened with his complete attention. “A boy.”
    “The captain of the high school football team.” She gave a smile. “Which in Texas can be a big deal. I was flattered by his attention. I fell hard. A few kisses, and I was convinced it was love. He talked me into going all the way.”
    “But you didn’t.” Taking a bite of his food, he grinned at her. “I know you didn’t.”
    “No.” She swirled another fry through the ketchup. “But I went to the doctor to get birth control pills.” With a deep breath, she looked him in the eye. “That’s how I found out I had cancer.”
    His jaw dropped. “Cancer?”
    “Ovarian, the same as my mom had had.” She kept stirring the fry in the ketchup, waiting for him to freak out, for him to look at her as if she still had one foot in the grave. “I was on chemotherapy for a long time. By the time I was in remission, Mark had long since dumped me for a cheerleader.”
    Cesare muttered something in Italian that sounded very unkind. She gave a grateful smile.
    “He did me a huge favor. I’d had no symptoms. If I hadn’t gone to the doctor then, I never would have known I was sick until it was too late. So in a funny way—that broken heart was the price that saved my life.” She ate a bite of French fry, then made a face when she realized the bite was almost entirely ketchup. She set it down on her plate. “Though for a long time I wished I had died.”
    “Why?”
    “My illness took everything. My childhood. My dreams of having a family someday. The medical bills even took our house.” Her throat ached, but she forced herself to tell the worst. “And it killed my father.”
    Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand. “Emma...”
    She took a deep breath. “It was my fault. My father wasn’t the kind of man who could declare bankruptcy and walk away from debt. So to pay all the bills, he took a night job. Between his jobs and taking care of me, he started to neglect my stepmother. They started fighting all the time. But the day my doctor announced I was in remission, I convinced my father to take me home early. It was Valentine’s Day. I talked him into stopping at the florist to buy flowers. As a surprise.” She paused. “Marion was surprised, all right. We found her at home, in bed, with the foreman from their factory.”
    Cesare sucked in his breath. “And?”
    “My father had a heart attack,” she whispered. She ran her hand over her eyes. “He was already so run-down from taking care of me. From working two jobs. Marion blamed me for everything.” Her voice caught as she covered her face with her hands. “She was right.”
    His voice was gentle as he pulled back her hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    “You’re wrong.” Emma looked at him across the table, and tears ran unchecked down her face. “If I hadn’t fought so hard to live, I’d never have been such a burden. My father wouldn’t have had to work two jobs, my stepmother wouldn’t have