And the one who is still William, he already has his wife, this one plus children. Is this my punishment? To be taunted with the vague and distant possibility of regaining at least something I lost, the promise there but always out of reach, forever just that side of reality? When do I have to stop paying? And what kind of a horrible mother am I, to fail to protect my children, and yet feel I don't deserve the punishment to fit the crime?
All that and more remained silent and captive on the tip of her tongue as she excused herself, fleeing to the illusionary excuse of sanctuary of the ladies' room, where she crossed over to the back, pacing a few times as she tried to choke back the rising sobs and finally hitting her knees to the floor as she lost.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that in so many more worlds, that bitch continued to live. It wasn't fair that in those worlds, who once had been William saw more fit to remain allied with her. It wasn't fair to know of that. It wasn't fair to know of another William, of another one of herself. It wasn't fair that other her could still hear the laughter of her children, to watch them grow up, to move on as if the dark shadows had been nothing more than a brief, temporary night.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't as though she intentionally put her children at risk. It wasn't as though she hadn't tried. And where were the differences? Why did the universe see fit to continue with her punishment, while another like her was given a reprieve? Where was the difference? What had she done? What was so terrible in her past to deserve where she found herself now, struggling day by day to even just breathe, to fall into a slumber of good dreams and happiness that only underscored the brutality of the mornings?
It wasn't fair.
She knelt doubled over, one arm across her stomach, one hand pressed to her mouth in a futile effort to muffle the sobs that shook her. Emotions spun like a dervish through a gauntlet of different emotions, leaving her dizzy. Raw grief, bitter resentment, stone-cold hatred.
But a part of her remained aware of her surroundings, especially the door, dreading the moment when her flimsy shield of privacy would be intruded on before she was ready to try and rejoin the living world again. Delilah didn't look up as the movement of it swinging open caught the corner of her eye, but struggled to breathe, to remain quiet and hold in the tears so she could get to her feet and try and pretend nothing ever happened.