Ben Crouch. She wasn't silly enough to envision that her son may have ended up Elliot Crouch, because she hardly recognized the man let alone knew him well enough to consider that marriage to him was ever a prospect, but still. He didn't seem to know that the boy he held onto was his own flesh and blood, no matter whose name he carried and who he called "Papa" at the end of the night. And, Merlin, she wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the thought of Mr. Crouch figuring out that Elliot was his son, or Ari figuring out that Elliot had cuddled up in the arms of his biological father—albeit unknowingly—for a few minutes.
Dionisia knew better than to make assumptions and admissions with0ut contemplating it, to her credit. She knew that Ben Crouch, no matter what had transpired between them those years ago, was now a married man. It was hard to avoid gossip, even if she did her best to.
"Mrs. Fisk," she said quietly, deciding it was best not to stoke the flames any further. He did not need to know. "I thank you for your assistance. I will be well." The words left her mouth methodically, mechanically; there was no tone to them, no true graciousness. She was in defense mode.
Dionisia knew better than to make assumptions and admissions with0ut contemplating it, to her credit. She knew that Ben Crouch, no matter what had transpired between them those years ago, was now a married man. It was hard to avoid gossip, even if she did her best to.
"Mrs. Fisk," she said quietly, deciding it was best not to stoke the flames any further. He did not need to know. "I thank you for your assistance. I will be well." The words left her mouth methodically, mechanically; there was no tone to them, no true graciousness. She was in defense mode.
