Page 73 of The Marine

Her face had hardened and that finger lifted, pointing at me with pure anger. “Don’t you dare go back to him, Briar Sutton. After everything I sacrificed for you. Staying with that man.”

“Staying was the worst thing, Mom.” I cried.

“Staying saved us both. What do you think would have happened if he’d got half custody of you?”

I swallowed.

My brain misfired as I stared blankly at her, and her face softened a little.

“Do not think about it, child. I protected you. But he kept this roof over our head. He restrained himself and took his...needs out on me.”

My stomach curdled as the reality of what she was barely saying sunk in. I closed my eyes and let out an incoherent sob.

“I loved your father despite his weakness.”

Weakness?

“But you brought a man into our world who ripped him away from us, Briar. He took my husband and your father from us!”

I didn’t believe that completely at that point, but after what she’d said, I was silent. Mom had sacrificed her life to protect me.

I couldn’t disrespect her.

Then she solidified my loyalty with her last statement.

“Go back to him and I will disown you.”

Sobbing, I’d collapsed on my bed and curled up in a ball that day knowing any hope I’d had was now gone.

It was him or her.

There was no other choice.

“Mom,” I called out a third time and opened the back door.

The sun was low in the sky and the yard was in its usual unkept state. She needed to weed, put things away, pick up rubbish.

None of it would take long, butit’s the depressionshe tells me.

“Your dad used to do it, and every time I try, it reminds me that he’s not here to take care of me.”

It’s been ten long years.

I know she’s manipulating me, but she’s been doing it for so long I don’t know how to stop it.

It’s her garden. If she wants to wallow in her grief instead of finding a way through, then that’s up to her. But I don’t want to lose my mom, so I just nod and pretend I understand.

Outside, I find her sitting in one of the chairs staring at her phone. Behind me, the aromas from the dinner cooking waft out, and I wonder if I need to turn the oven off.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I ask, confused.

She doesn’t look up.

Crap.

I run back inside and pull open the oven. Yeah, the lasagna is more than cooked. I turn it off and sigh, glancing out the window.

Mom shakes her head.

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