Page 47 of Yes, Love

“I guess you finally got over me then, eh?” She gave me a half-smile and shrugged. “That’s probably for the best. I need to focus on myself right now. I honestly don’t even know what I was thinkin’ right then.” Lucy stared at a crack on the front porch and hugged herself.

“I… I’m sorry, Lucy. You don’t have feelings for me, do you?”

Lucy shook her head but still didn’t meet my gaze. “I can’t make sense of any of my feelings. I couldn’t answer that truthfully one way or another.” She sighed and smoothed her wild, brown curls, then gave me a tentative glance. “Is it Ava?”

I held Lucy’s gaze for a moment before looking up at the orange sky. The clouds gathered and darkened as I watched them for a moment. What did she want me to say? Of course it was Ava. “Looks like it’s going to rain,” I muttered to the clouds.

Lucy snorted. “No shit. Well, if it is Ava, then I’m happy for you. She’s a good lass. Thank her for me again.”

“I will.” I patted Lucy’s shoulder and then headed down the drive to my car. It felt normal to walk away from Lucy this time— like it was always what would have happened between us. It felt good to be only her friend.

Twenty Four

Dominic

This wasn’t the home I grew up in. It wasn’t the tiny flat we’d moved to after escaping him, either. This place was all my mum’s, and every inch of it reflected her personality. The front garden of the small, cottage-style home was so overgrown with flowers that it was almost laughable, and her front door was painted bright yellow.

This was who she was without him — warm and happy.

As I walked up the front drive, the mild scent of hollyhock drifted through the air. It was my mum’s favourite flower, so naturally, she’d have it in her garden, but it only brought back awful memories for me.

I could still see his pathetic arse standing in the doorway, clutching a bundle of hollyhock. “Sarah? Sarah, angel, I’m sorry. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

I shook away the thoughts of my father and lifted my fist to knock. The door flung open immediately, and my mother’s bright smile greeted me. “Dom, love! I’m so happy to see you!” She held out her arms for a hug.

My mum felt so small in my arms, and I felt the all too familiar urge to protect her. Then the guilt settled in. “Mum, it’s been ages. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now.” She laughed and tried to take the bag from my shoulder. When I refused to give it to her, she sighed and led me to her small, tidy kitchen. “Tea, love? I’ll put the kettle on.”

I took a seat at her kitchen table while she bustled around, prepping the tea. She still had her mother’s yellow kettle. She always used it to make tea for me after school. It was one of the few happy memories from my childhood. We’d sit and drink tea and talk about my day before he came home from work.

I really was a shit son for not coming to visit since I’d moved to America. It’d been nearly two years now.

She turned to smile at me as the kettle heated. “How’s Lucy doing? The poor dear.” Deep sadness flickered in her soft brown eyes, but she didn’t drop her gaze.

We never talked much about what happened with my father afterward. I’d found her sobbing in her bedroom that first night in our own flat. She’d stood on shaky legs and whispered through her tears. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through. I’m so sorry I let him hurt us both. You must think I’m so weak.” A sob escaped her trembling mouth, and she clapped a hand over it.

“Mum,” I began, ready to tell her that she wasn’t weak and that I didn’t blame her, but she’d held up her hand to stop me.

“I lost myself, son, but I’ll never let it happen again.”

And then we carried on with our lives, not so much as speaking his name.

Now, I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Lucy’s not well.”

“I’d imagine it so.” Mum placed the teacups on the table and sat across from me. “You’re a good man for helping her out of that awful situation. I thank God every day that you grew to be a good man after the hell your father and I put you through.”

“It wasn’t you, mum. It was all him. Don’t blame yourself.”

Silence stretched on, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock above the sink. Finally, my mum sighed and said, “You know, he wasn’t always that way. When we met, he was sweet and encouraging. Then when we found out I was pregnant with you, he wouldn’t hear a word about going to one of those clinics. He wanted you. He wanted me. Stan went out and got a good job and bought us a house. He really stepped up, and those first few years were beautiful.” My mum gave me a sad smile and traced the floral pattern on her teacup. “You don’t remember a second of those days. You only remember what he turned into.”

I couldn’t picture this man my mother was describing. I didn’t want to.

She sighed and sipped her tea. “That’s how it happens. The person you adore slowly slips away, taking pieces of you with them. By the time you wake up and see what’s happened, you’re already a shell of yourself. Then you don’t feel strong enough, well, for anything at all.”

I reached across the table and took her hand in mine, my protective instincts kicking in. “We don’t have to talk about that bastard, mum.”

“I think we’ve spent enough time not talking about it. I’ve never explained myself or properly apologised for not getting you out of that home the second he laid his hands on you.”

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