“For a long time, I thought I had struck it lucky. There were times I looked at your father and convinced myself he was a good man,” she speaks, her voice soft, but I can hear her. “I wanted nothing more than to be someone.”
When she lowers her head, I take in her hunched back, her slumped shoulders, and I wonder how a woman who was always so obsessed with what everyone thought of her has come to this. Perhaps it makes me cold, but I feel nothing. There’s no sadness, not even an inkling of pity.
“When he told me what he had done,” she starts again, her voice raw, and that’s when I notice her crying. In all the years, I’ve never seen this woman shed her emotions. Even when they used to fight, she never allowed herself to show weakness. Because that’s what crying is, at least, what she believes.
When I was younger, she taught me to be hardened to the world. She explained how when you’re weak, people take advantage of you, but now that I’m learning more about her, I realize, she wasn’t offering advice from naivety, she was speaking from experience.
“I wanted to be a woman who could show the world I made it. Coming from nothing, I learned early on that there are those who only care about what they can see. Which is why I was always so hard on you.”
“One thing is for sure, mother, you made sure I wasn’t the same as you,” I inform her. “No man will treat me the way dad treated you.”
“You think a man like Lycan Shaw can give you happiness? Love?” This time, when she looks at me, I see the doubt swirling in her eyes. “He has money, he can buy you anything your heart desires, but there will never be connection.”
Her words make me laugh out loud. The muscles in my body tense and tighten as anger warms my stomach. “My husband has given me more in the few months I’ve known him than yours has in the years you’ve been married.” My words are confident, fierce, and my fingers tremble to smash something.
“You truly love him,” she murmurs, her eyes wide as she takes me in.
Looking at her, I nod. “I do. And he loves me, more than you or anyone else can ever imagine. He’s swallowed down his own needs, shoving them in a box in order for me to explore who I am as a person.” I don’t tell her more than that, because she doesn’t need to know. All she needs to hear is that I love the man who’s probably giving his brother an earful because of our wedding day.
“I wanted what was best for you.”
“So, you allowed Father to sell me to someone? To lose me in a bet while he was drunk and partying with girls who were my age?” The disgust is clear in my tone, and it makes her wince. I should care that I just hurt her, but I don’t. I push to my feet as her hands shoot out to grab onto mine.
“Don’t go yet,” she pleads with me, the tears dancing on her lashes as she regards me. The touch of her fingers on mine has me wanting to rip myself away and tell her to leave, but I swallow down the anger, and I don’t move.
“Give me a reason to feel anything for you but pity?” I ask, even though nothing is currently flickering through me. Nothing but the need to escape from her, from the lies of the Bardot family. If I’m going to make a name for myself, to finally have a family filled with love, I need to walk away.
“I love you,” she says, and it is one of the very few times those words have ever left my mother’s mouth. I don’t remember a time she didn’t say it loud enough for everyone to hear, to ensure all her socialite friends cooed about how sweet she was to me.
“It’s all pretense,” I tell her. “Everything you’ve ever done or said has been for the benefit of those around you. Are you saying this now because you know Dad has no more money? That the moment I go to the police and tell them what he did you’ll be left in the gutter?”
Once again, my mother winces at my words. I could forgive her, well, I could voice my forgiveness, but for a long while, I don’t think I can. Yes, in my heart I’ve let go of the torment that’s hurting me. As I look into her eyes, I silently forgive her for what she put me through, but I do it for me. To allow myself to move on.
“Do you even know what happened to me when I was at school?” I bite out, rage consuming me as I look at the woman who was meant to be there for me. The person I was supposed to be able to talk to when I needed advice, love, support.