Page 138 of Back to Willow

“Whatever it is, baby, we’ll—”

“No!” I startle at the loud boom of her voice. “You don’t understand,” she wails. “I can’t—you’ll hate me!”

“You know I won’t.”

“Please, you need to know I would never do anything to hurt you.” I nod, agreeing.I know that now.“Not willingly,” she emphasises.

“Let’s do something,” I intervene, not wanting her to dwell on something she shouldn’t and instigate another panic attack. “You and Dylan get dressed and give me an hour. I’ll meet you at your house, and we’ll spend the rest of Christmas together. You’ll tell me on your own time and terms. Yeah?”

“Yes, please,” Dylan chimes up. “Let’s go, Mummy.”

She’s sceptical, and even though I can’t understand why, I need her to believe me. I’ll be there.

“Trust me,” I beg. “I love you, that won’t change.”

With a weak nod, she unlocks the door and flees to my bedroom, where their bags are. As soon as my bedroom door clicks shut, I grip the bathroom sink, taking a deep breath. Fuck, not even assisting Dr Shawn during long surgeries is as draining.

It hurts, though, how easy it is for someone to snap their fingers and burn her world down. It’s even worse to not be able to help—at all.

I’m useless.

How can one simple second be enough to burst the bubble of happiness we’ve finally reached?Fucking hell.

Once I am finally calm and collected, I walk back to the living room, to face my obnoxious parents and send them on their way. If they don’t leave, I will.

Thankfully, there’s a corner preventing them from seeing the front door directly, which means she might be able to leave undetected once she’s ready.

The only person sitting on my couch is my brother. His body twitches once in a while, his hands constantly shaking as his eyes barely focus on something specific. Is he still in withdrawal? He shouldn’t if what my mother said on our phone call was true.

My parents pop up from the kitchen, my father seething, “How could you?”

“How could I what?” I counter, not even bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

I do not have the patience for this.

My parents look like they’re about to blow up with how red their faces are, and my poor brother looks more stressed with each passing second. I bet he’s craving some white powder to sniff—especially with those two hounding his every move again.

“After everything we’ve done for you–” my father booms.

“And after what that despicable girl did,” my mother shrieks. “How could you forgive her?”

“It isn’t your business, is it?” I can’t help but snide. “We talked and solved everything. You don’t know what happened, and I—”

“We don’t?” My father cuts me off, that signature sarcasm of his. “Are you sure?”

A heaviness falls upon my chest. What?

“What the hell are you on about?” I ask, exasperated. “Look, I’m not interested in the twisted games you like to play. That girl back there went through hell and back for that kid. And yes, maybe she didn’t make the best decisions, but she did the best she could with the little she had.”

“Did she tell you the truth, then?” he taunts. “That the kid isn’t yours?”

I go completely still, hand hanging mid-air as I look at him wide-eyed.

How does he—

A whimper catches my attention, and I see my brother rocking back and forward on the couch, his hands clutching the roots of his hair tightly. All of this fighting must be triggering him and worsening his cravings.

“Let’s stop this! Mason is not–”

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