Page 57 of One Baddie for Three Daddies

"It doesn't matter if they're saints," she retorts, shaking her head. "I will never be on board with this."

Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying won't help now. "So that's it? You're just going to walk out and never talk to me again?"

"If that's what it takes," she says quietly.

“If you’re going to continue with this kind of relationship,” she says, standing up and straightening her skirt, “then you are no longer welcome home.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious, Bianca.” She zips her suitcase with a finality that echoes in the room. “I won’t have it.”

A wave of nausea rises up. “So that’s it? You’re just cutting me off?”

“You’re making a choice, and so am I.” She reaches for her purse, not even looking at me.

“Mom, please,” I plead, my voice cracking. “I care about them. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I understand perfectly well,” she says, her eyes finally meeting mine. They’re cold, unforgiving. “You’re choosing them over your family.”

“I’m not choosing them over you!” I argue, stepping closer. “I just want you to accept that they make me happy.”

She shakes her head, disappointment etched in every line of her face. “Happiness isn’t everything.”

“It is to me!” I snap back, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

She picks up her suitcase and heads for the door. I move to block her path. “You can’t leave like this.”

“I can and I will.” She pushes past me, her resolve unshakable.

I grab her arm in desperation. “Don’t do this, Mom.”

She pulls away sharply, eyes flashing with anger. “Goodbye, Bianca.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

The door slams shut behind her, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. My legs give out and I sink to the floor, tears blurring my vision. The reality of what just happened crashes over me like a tidal wave.

I drag myself from the hotel room, like a zombie. Each step is heavy, like I'm wading through quicksand. I make my way to my car, the California sun starting to go down. There's no warmth anywhere around me.

The events of the past 24 hours replay in my mind like a bad movie on loop. How did things go from perfect yesterday to complete shit today?

I slump into the driver's seat and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The leather is cool against my palms, but it does nothing to soothe me. I stare at the dashboard, trying to piece together how everything fell apart so quickly.

I glance at the hotel entrance one last time. My mom is gone, she's probably on her way to the airport by now. She didn't even look back.

I just sit there for a long time, the silence in the car almost suffocating. My phone buzzes in my purse, but I ignore it. Probably just work emails. None of it matters right now.

My relationship is over, and my mother has practically disowned me. How am I supposed to fix any of this? The thought makes me feel like a tiny boat lost in a stormy sea.

"Come on, Bia," I mutter to myself. "Pull it together."

But the pep talk falls flat. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I can't go back to how things were before. Too much has changed.

I stare blankly at the dashboard. The world outside seems distant, muffled by the storm inside my head. I groan, leaning back against the seat, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Three exes, I think darkly, how the fuck did we get here?

It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t hurt so much. My mom disowns me, and now I have to face those three at work. Every day. The thought makes me want to scream. There’s no solution in sight, no way out of this tangled mess.

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