Page 96 of The Version You Hide

“I don’t know. A reaction, I guess. Anything.”

“You want me to bore you with the details of my sob story life?” she cries, her expression hard and angry. I get the feeling she’s about to direct her temper at me, but if it means she’s going to let something out, I’ll take it. “You wanna know about how while you were driving your Ferrari out to A-list parties and flashing your corporate credit cards around, I was busy making sure that my dad always fell asleep on his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit? Or how I spent hours thinking up creative lies and excuses to cover the bruises after my boyfriend beat me? Hoping to God that a teacher wouldn’t question me about them and he’d punish me worse?”

A lump builds in my throat, a sick feeling twisting within my gut until I start to worry I’m not going to be able to keep my breakfast down. Her words are breaking me right now, making me feel smaller, her pain crushing me from the inside out.

How can so much trauma be inflicted on one person? How is that fair?

“Or how about this?” she continues, her voice dropping lower, a calmer tone. “How about how scared I am every single day that I’m going to turn out just like one of my parents?”

I step toward her, not sure how much more I can take. But I need to hear this. Her words are important, and she needs to say them.

“You want to hear about how broken I am?” Her tears are falling harder and faster now. “I am. Okay? I’m broken. I’m lost and I don’t know what to do.”

“Come here,” I tell her, almost demanding. Tears threaten to spill from my own eyes.

She steps forward, closing the gap between us and collapses into my arms, her body wracked with heavy sobs. Her world is crumbling down around her and with it her defences are falling too. I’ve waited so long for her to let me in, but this isn’t the way I wanted it to happen.

“You’re not broken, Kenz.” I tell her. “You’re beautiful. And you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“How could she do this to me?”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I won’t pretend to know what you must be feeling. But your mum had post-partum depression. This has never been about you.”

Her eyes find mine, a crease deepening between her brows.

“You understand that right?”

“She could have come to me,” she argues. “She could have told me all of this before she died.”

“Maybe she could have,” I say. “But you can’t tear yourself down with questions and what ifs. Your mother loved you. And in the midst of her depression, she felt as though she was doing what was best.”

“It wasn’t what was best. And I don’t know how I can ever forgive her.”

I give into the urge to hold her, pulling her close, my t-shirt soaking up the rest of her tears. I don’t know what to say. It’s not my place to find answers for her and I can’t take away her suffering.

All I know is that I’m the luckiest man on this earth to be the one holding her through it.

Chapter 29

MACKENZIE

I’m still processing the words in that letter. I have a feeling I’ll be processing them for the rest of my life. And I know that Dylan was right when he said that none of this has ever really been about me. My mother had an illness that had been outside of my control. For her, leaving was the only way out.

I was the collateral damage and I guess in a lot of ways, my father was too. My mother’s depression set off a chain of unfortunate events. Her leaving, my dad’s drinking, my feelings of worthlessness. The what ifs are sure to haunt me forever.

What if somebody had recognised the signs? What if somebody had been brave enough to help her through it, instead of watching it play out from afar? What if she’d come to find me later in life? What if I’d tried harder to find her instead of thinking she didn’t want anything to do with me?

God, I’d been angry when I’d finished reading that letter, but now I’m just sad. Sad for what could have been, and sad for all that was lost.

I haven’t taken my eyes off the window, a blur of green trees and grey skies rushing past as we head back toward Cliff Haven.

Along with the rest of the emotions I’ve conjured up today, there’s an immense pressure in my chest caused by the guilt I’m feeling for what I said to Dylan back at the aquarium. He didn’t deserve the way I’d lashed out.

I swivel my head in his direction. His sights are steady on the road ahead. He’s given me silence the entire journey home. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to me, but because he knows it’s what I need. He always seems to know what I need.

“I’m sorry for what I said. About the car and credit cards and parties. I didn’t mean that.”

He turns to me, giving me a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he replies with a shrug. “Truth is, I’ve been given opportunities that most people would kill for.”

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