Page 120 of Hawthorne

“I’ll make sure to send my condolences to him,” I answer.

No matter the meaning behind the child’s death, a father losing their offspring is something I wish for no one in this world. I may not have my kids yet, but just the mere thought of Camilla going through a traumatic birth and losing the result of our love feels crippling to me.

From my mother’s expression, that is the least of her concerns. I know what she’s hinting at, but I won’t fall for her bait.

“I was also informed…” she trails off, trying to get my attention. When I finally look at her, her smile stretches as she adds, “He’s on his deathbed. Two more days, at most.”

This time around, my eyes widen. That can’t be.Fuck no!

“I see that has caught your attention.” She smirks.

I can’t wait any longer to tell her…

“Mother,” I start. “We need to talk–”

“Yes, we do,” she interrupts me with a tut. “Before we start, why don’t you pour your mother a drink?”

Standing up, I head to the corner where my drinks and glasses are perfectly arranged, pouring us both some whisky. I prefer Port, but she has always been a whisky person.

Just as she brings the glass to her lips, nursing on it, I spit it out, “I want to abdicate.”

It’s better to just rip the band-aid out, right?

Silence.She blinks once, then twice. “What?”

“To step down. Renounce. Quit. Mainly, to hand over the responsibilities to Edgar, to be precise.”

Our eyes are unwavering, locking on each other, and I can almost see her emotions going through them. The silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time until her smile—the sickly sweet one—comes out.

“I knew it.” She smiles, bringing her purse up and placing it on the desk. “You were distancing yourself, and I had a feeling…”

“It’s not what you think, Mother,” I start. “I never wanted any of this-”

“Oh, but it is,” she cuts me off, opening her purse. “That is why I’ve come prepared.”

“Prepared?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Can you stop what you’re doing, look at me, and listen. I am telling you, I don’t want this–”

“Shut up,” she booms, her hand hitting the hardwood desk.

I freeze, shocked.

Sarah was always a harsh woman, but she has never lost her composure like that.Never.

I raise my hands in a sign of defeat, letting her take the upper hand. Meanwhile, I watch her every move as her bony hands finally find the brown envelope inside her bag and bring it out.

She places it on the smooth, dark surface between us. Her eyes lock on mine once more. That evil glint I’ve seen so many times aimed at others is finally aimed at me. It’s piercing, freezing my bones with her disdain. How can she even look at me like that?

What’s inside?

“Just in case this would happen, which it did in the end…” she trails off, and my eyes dart up from the brown envelope to her. “I’ve decided to take some precautions to keep you on track and remind you of what’s important.”

“What do you mean?” I grit out, my jaw locked with the frustration of her words.

What is she trying to get at?

“You’re just like your father.” She sighs. “A man who loves deeply and dreams hard. I had to bring him back to reality very often, and I won’t be afraid to do the same to you.”

Her frail fingers press on the envelope, pushing it closer to me, beckoning me to open it. Inside my chest, my heart skyrockets. My mother has always been a woman of goals. Cold-hearted? Sure, but it never crossed my mind she could becruel. And certainly not cruel to her son. I never considered questioning her morality.

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