Page 70 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

“Don’t do that,” her mother said. “That’s actually what keeps you in regret. When something changes you, you have to follow that change all the way through to the end. There’s no point resisting it. That’s how I ended up here.” She gestured around her pink and aqua kitchen.

And Noelle realized that what her mom said was true. She couldn’t go back to how she was. To how things had been.

She was going to have to persist with what was new. Figure out what living with heartbreak looked like.

“I’m still going to go back,” she said. “But I’ll remember what you said.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have some magic words for you.”

“I think you gave me better than that. You gave me the truth. And I’m thankful that you’re still here to give it to me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EVERYTHINGWASTERRIBLE. The worst that it had ever been. He was alone. Alone, alone, and the space closed in around him like an oppressive fog. It was unbearable. Unmanageable.

He missed her. He needed her. He had failed her.

You have to get back.

No. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to go back to that dark place.But you’re already there.

That was how he found himself going out to the old house. Going through those old gates. The property was overgrown. It was awful. It was untouched, he knew. A monument to his mother’s insanity.Why did you keep it?

That question echoed inside of him, as he took a key and turned it in the lock, opened the door for the first time in so many years. His palms were sweating, his heart beating far too fast. Why did you keep it?

If you’re so ashamed of it, why did you keep this monument to it?

Because he hadn’t figured out how to let it go yet. And so it stood. A monument to all they were. To his loneliness. The smell was terrible. It was also home. He hated that truth.

He walked through the dark rooms, filled with piles, filled with shame.

His heart rate quickened, and his own fear started to mount. And suddenly, he saw each and every object in the house for what it was. Fear.

It was her grasping at anything, everything.

Fear that blocked her from giving him the love that he needed. Fear that left him alone, locked in his room.

Because that was what a need for this level of control was. And for her, as chaotic as it looked, it was control.

Just like for him... For him pushing her away had been control.

Fear directly blocked love. And as he stood there, looking at all of it, at his mother’s humanity, he felt something shift within him.

He saw his mother differently.

Not her failure, but simply struggles in herself that she could not figure out how to overcome, he wanted to overcome his.

A lump was in his throat, and he walked up the stairs, to his bedroom.

He reached out and turned the doorknob. It was locked.

Locked because he had locked himself in it. Locked because he never left through that door. Because he had been afraid. Afraid, afraid, afraid.

His whole life was marked by fear.

“Enough,” he said to the closed door. To the little boy that, in his mind, was still behind it. “Enough.” He turned and slammed his shoulder violently against the door.

“Unlock the door,” he said. “Open this door right now.” He threw his body against it again, and again. And then, with one final, brutal blow, he kicked it open. And inside was nothing.

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