Page 56 of Valley

Relief washed over me as I shook his hand, the tension in my shoulders easing. But just as I stood to leave, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing Trish’s name on the screen. I answered, ready to tell her my news, but her panicked voice cut me off. “Mom is threatening to kill herself, and I need you over here now. I don’t know what to do.”

A cold dread settled in my gut. “I’m coming,” I said, hanging up the phone, my mind already racing.

Chris, who had been watching me closely, immediately caught on. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

“My mom’s an alcoholic,” I explained, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “Sometimes she has these episodes where she tries to hurt herself. I need to get over there and help talk her down.”

Without hesitation, Chris said, “Take me.” He glanced at Madeline, who had just come back into the room with Ellie in her arms. “We can take the van. I can help you with her. You can tell me about her history on the way over.”

“Here are the keys,” Madeline said, her voice steady as she handed them to me. But I could see the worry in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she passed the keys. Chris and Madeline exchanged a look, one of mutual understanding, before we headed out the door. His expression was set,determined, and for the first time, I felt a sliver of hope that maybe—just maybe—things could get better.

On the way over, I filled Chris in on everything—how my mom had spiraled into alcoholism after the way dad treated her, how she’d battled her demons alone for so long that they’d nearly consumed her. It should have felt strange, spilling all this personal history to him, but it didn’t. Chris listened intently, his eyes thoughtful, and there was something in his demeanor that made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this, that he genuinely cared.

When we pulled up to the house, Danny was waiting outside, his face pale with worry. He gave Chris an odd look but didn’t question his presence. “Trish can’t seem to talk her down this time,” he hurried to explain as we approached the door. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

Inside, I could hear Trish’s desperate pleas, her voice cracking with emotion as she begged our mom to listen. But Mom’s refusal was loud and clear, her tone flat, defeated. My heart clenched at the sound. Shit, she was still my mom, and I loved her.

I started to go in, but Chris stopped me with a firm hand on my arm. “Let me handle this,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Sometimes it takes a stranger to make a difference, someone who understands what they’re feeling.”

Reluctantly, I nodded, and Danny and I helped Chris inside. We signaled for Trish to come out, leaving them alone in the room, but we stayed close, just out of sight, where we could see, listening, ready to step in if things got out of hand.

Chris wheeled his chair in front of the couch where Mom sat, a bottle in one hand, a gun in the other. The sight of her like that—a shell of the woman she used to be—ripped at my heart. Her face was a mask of defeat, etched with years of self-inflicted pain and neglect.

“Who the hell are you?” Mom spat, her voice slurred, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she looked at Chris.

“My name’s Chris,” he said evenly, his gaze steady as he took her in, assessing the situation with a calm intensity. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Anna?”

“What do you care?” she hissed, throwing the bottle across the room, the glass shattering against the wall. Her grip tightened on the gun, and for a split second, fear coursed through me. “You some psychiatrist or something?”

“No, Anna,” he replied, his voice bitter with the weight of his own memories. “I’m someone who knows what it’s like to not want to be part of this world anymore. I’ve been to a place so dark I never thought I’d see light again.”

“You don’t know shit about what I’ve been through,” she shot back, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t have anything to stick around for.”

“You’re pathetic,” Chris said, his voice suddenly harsh, and my jaw dropped in shock. I hadn’t expected that. “You have kids who love you, grandkids if you’d sober up enough to get to know them. Instead, you’re drinking yourself to death over a man who didn’t deserve you in the first place, letting the beautiful woman you once were fade into nothing but a skeleton of pity. Even in death, you’re letting that asshole hurt you.”

“You don’t understand—” she started, but Chris cut her off with a sharp motion, his hand slashing through the air.

“I don’t understand?” he snarled, his voice raw with emotion. He ripped off the blanket covering his lap, revealing the scars of his own battle. “Do you know what it’s like waking up to find you have no legs, coming home to discover your wife didn’t love you enough to stay with a fucking cripple? To know that you’ll never feel the love, the touch of a woman because they can’t stand to look past your waist. Every time you go outside to be looked at with pity from everyone who looks your way. To seea woman like you kill herself over some worthless piece of shit, when there are men like me waiting to be noticed.”

He wheeled closer to her, the raw power of his words pinning her in place. “I wanted to die, Anna. But I couldn’t, because my mother reminded me every day that I had her and my daughter, and they needed me.”

“I... I,” she stuttered, her defenses crumbling, the gun slipping from her grasp as the weight of his words crashed over her.

“Your children love you, Anna,” Chris continued, his tone softening as he reached out and took her trembling hand. “That beautiful woman is still there, beneath all the abuse and neglect. It’s not too late.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost sacred, as if we were witnessing something too private, too intimate to be shared. Mom stared at him, her eyes searching his face, and in that moment, something shifted. The hopelessness that had gripped her for so long began to loosen its hold.

“Will you help me?” she whispered, her voice small, vulnerable. “Be there for me?”

“Every step of the way,” Chris promised, squeezing her hand, a silent vow passing between them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Chapter Thirty-Two

SIX WEEKS LATER:

I shoved Madeline against the cold bathroom counter,my rough hands hiking up her skirt. “We don’t have time for this. Daphne and Hillbilly are about to cut the wedding cake,” she whispered, not trying to stop me, but her body betrayed her with a quiver of anticipation.

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