Page 2 of Falling For Us Again

“Yeah? Well, I don’t have parents anymore. Do I?” The venom in my voice is cutting.

Aunt Mila looks at me disapprovingly.

“Well, it’s true.”

I rub my locket more out of habit than anything else. I haven't worn it in years, but somehow, I felt like wearing it today. I always carry it in my bag, as if keeping a tiny part of my mother with me.

Admitting this feels foolish and pathetic. My rational thoughts mock me whenever I get sentimental, as if scorning, "Stop being delusional, Jenna. She's been dead for years and is never coming back."

I push it away.

“Your mother loved that place.”

“Aunt Mila, we haven’t been there in years. No one has. What's the point of letting it continue to sit there unused and falling apart? Best to sell it and close that chapter.”

“You can’t erase your history.”

“I’d love to try.”

“Jenna—“

“You know more than anyone that everything about that house and town brings back nothing but bad memories.” I try to sound indifferent, but speaking about Hartlow and my childhood home overwhelms me with emotions that I don't want to feel.

“I don’t see the point of keeping it. You can’t even bring yourself to go there, Aunt Mila.”

“I used to go there once a year,” she says softly.

My eyes snap up to meet hers in surprise. “What?”

“I used to go there occasionally. I’ve had some of my old friends clean it every now and then and keep an eye on it. Just to make sure it's still livable and not get completely run down.”

“Why would you do that?”

“For my sister. For your mother. But I haven't been there in the past three years. Work’s been keeping me busy with travel.

A brief flash of anger crosses my face before I relent. I don't understand why Aunt Mila would do that. I thought she hated everything about that town as much as I did.

“Your mother’s eleventh death anniversary is coming up. Aren't you curious about the circumstances of her death?”

“What circumstances?” My curiosity is piqued.

One of the worst parts of my mother’s death is that I remember nothing surrounding it. All I remember is waking up in the hospital and being told that we were in an accident and she didn’t make it.

Maybe my brain blocked it out to protect me from the trauma. I tried getting information about what happened, but my father refused to talk about it. He didn’t seem to want to talk to me at all. It felt like he blamed me for her death.

Aunt Mila always avoided the topic, so I stopped bringing it up.

Aunt Mila walks over and holds my hand, her grip warm and steady. “Jenna, I know you hate Hartlow because of all the bad memories, but you have to face your demons. You’ve never fully healed from everything that happened. Selling the house is just another way to run further away."

Her words are hard to listen to. I feel exposed. Aunt Mila never talks about anything that happened in Hartlow. We’ve just continued to live without a word about that town, my childhood home, or the abuse I suffered from my father.

A depth of nausea rises in my stomach, threatening to bring bile to my mouth.

I snatch my hand from hers. “I’m fine. I have a therapist, remember? You literally took me to see one after I moved here. I don’t even think about that town. I’m happy, successful, and adored by millions of fans around the world. I am one of the privileged ones.”

The words tumble out in a rush as I pace the room as if trying to convince myself.

I am happy, though.

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