Page 48 of Bitter House

“It’s true.” He pushes out a breath, releasing me and moving across the room as he runs a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?”

“Sweetheart, you were so young. I never wanted you to know or to look at your father that way. I didn’t want you to think badly about him. I didn’t want myself to think badly about him. I loved your father, Cole. I swear to you, I did. And we had you when we were so in love.” She hesitates. “But…eventually something changed in him. He lost his brother, your uncle. You’re too young to remember, but it was horrific. He started drinking, and…he changed.” She draws in a shaky breath. “I tried to get him help. I tried to see him through it, to stick around, but it became too dangerous. He put me in the hospital twice before he broke your arm.”

My entire body goes rigid as I watch Cole grow pale. “I broke my arm at school.”

“That’s what I told you when you saw the pictures years later,” she says. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I should’ve gotten you away sooner, but I was weak. I…Vera is the reason—the only reason—we survived. She got us out of there when I wasn’t strong enough. She made sure your father could never hurt us again, could never hurt you again. She is the reason we still have each other, and I will forever be grateful to her for that. You have to understand that I wish it could’ve been different. Leaving your father, lying to you, it was never what I wanted, but I know now that if we’d stayed, I’d be dead. And I hate to think about the person he would’ve turned you into.” She sobs.

“Mom, please don’t—” He can’t finish his sentence as tears choke his own words.

“Please don’t hate me,” she begs.

“I don’t,” he says. “Of course I don’t.”

“You are my child, Cole. Mine. You got the best parts of me. Your father does not define you, do you hear me? You are kind and loving and compassionate. Where you came from, who you came from doesn’t matter.”

He brushes his palm across his cheek, drying his tears as quickly as they fall. “Mom, I need to go.”

“Oh, please don’t do tha?—”

“I love you, okay?” His voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it. “I just need a minute. I’ll call you soon.”

“I love you too. Please call me back.” She’s still crying as he ends the call, and the thought of her all alone breaks my heart, but right now, it’s Cole who needs me.

I approach him from behind, dusting a hand over his back. He runs his palm over his face before he turns to look at me. “I came from a monster, B. My dad was a monster.” He stares down at his own hands as if he might be guilty of the same thing. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Without warning, he falls into my arms, not crying but just existing. Just breathing and letting me hold the weight of all he’s learned.

“You came from the kindest woman I know,” I tell him gently, rubbing his back. I don’t know what else to say, though I wish there was more that I could. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do any of this. So we stand there in each other’s arms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, when he pulls back, he says, “That was him, wasn’t it? In the garden? The body we found was my dad.”

I give a small, sad nod, feeling guilty for a crime I had no part in. “I think so, yeah.”

He shakes his head, staring off into the distance. “I don’t remember him, you know? Like, I remember that he existed, but I have no real memories of my parents ever being together. It was always just Mom and Vera.” He puffs out a breath of air. “What are we supposed to do?” His hand swipes down his face, eyes wide as he looks my way again. “If we call the police about the body, if they figure out who it is, Mom could go to jail. This changes everything.”

A rock settles in my stomach. He’s right. These consequences go far past Vera now.

PART 3

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

VERA BITTER

It’s been three years since my last entry. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I’d ever write again, but over the weekend I found this old journal, and my last entry broke my heart.

I was lost then, after losing Christina. Confused. Devastated. Broken.

I’m still lost, devastated, confused, and broken, of course. I’m a mother who’s lost a child. A wife without a husband. I am a shell of who I once was, and I know I’ll never get that part of me back.

But…I’m okay. I’m breathing. Day by day. I’ve turned my pain into fuel for the cause, rather than shutting it down and running scared. The man who killed my daughter is in the ground in the woods surrounding our house. No one suspects a thing.

Another important update since I wrote last: after Chrissy’s death, it took me a long time to decide what I was going to do. I wanted to quit. I wanted to back down and lick my wounds and hide. I haven’t slept well since that day. Since the day I learned that she was dead, and it was my fault. Most people would give up, would back down and realize they’ve caused harm to the people they love.

But I’m stubborn, remember? Few things keep me awake at night like the knowledge that I caused my daughter’s death. But the one thing that has? The fact that if I give up, if I run away with my tail tucked, they win.

The bad guys, the monsters, they win.

Silence of the good is the weapon of the wicked. If I sit back and let this happen, let one bad man stop me from doing so much good, then he has won.

---