Page 55 of Anything For This Love

“You may have been too little at the time to remember, but I do. I thought she was Super Woman back then.”

“Meanis what she was. I doubt that’s changed much,” he muses.

“Still,” I begin, letting out a sigh, “I don’t like her working down there by herself at night.”

“Me neither. Who would’ve thought we’d be worrying about her again, hoping nothing happens to her while she’s at work?”

“I would’ve lost the farm on that bet.”

“Same,” he agrees.

The first weekof January finds our landscape covered in snow. The temperatures drop and the wind is nearly unbearable. I miss the warm, sunny days where all you need to leave the house are your keys and a pair of flip flops. These days, you have to dress in layers, including a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, and then wrestle your heavily-socked feet into snow boots.

The second week is much more forgiving. The snow melts and the sun peeks out from behind the clouds every now and then, easing the bitter chill in the air. Chloe and I can finally play outside a little without feeling like we’re about to get frostbite. Jacob is coming in for the weekend and he’s renting a cabin for the three of us. The house is already a little cramped with my mother staying there. Add another person on top of that, and we’re bursting at the seams.

Around lunchtime Thursday, I get a call from the childcare center while I’m at work. Chloe’s teacher informs me that she has a low-grade fever, which requires an early pick up. I notify my supervisor and clock out, stopping by the drug store to grab some medication to reduce her fever. When I get to the daycare center, she’s fussy and tugging on her ear. She’s had an ear infection one other time and it started the same way. She still has some ear drops at home that might help, so I load her up in the car, give her a dose of medicine, and head home. She falls asleep on the way.

I make a mental note to call her pediatrician once I get her tucked into her bed. Hopefully, they can confirm what’s wrong with her and treat it quickly. Her dad will be here all weekend and I want her to enjoy her time with him. When we pull into the driveway, I carefully unbuckle the straps and lift her from her seat, trying my damnedest not to wake her. As quietly as possible, I unlock and open the front door, shutting it gently behind me so it doesn’t make a sound. I remove her shoes and jacket and lay her in her bed, only covering her with a thin blanket. Her cheeks are flushed, and her forehead is still a little warmer than it should be when I press my bare forearm to it.

A muffled voice draws my attention away from her and I glance across the hall to my closed bedroom door. Fear freezes me in place. Someone is in our house. My grandmother is at a doctor’s appointment, so I know it can’t be her.

When the person in my room raises her voice, I relax. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s my mom’s. But why the hell is she in my room? And why is the door shut? Suspicion creeps over my skin, causing goosebumps to pebble my arms.

I tiptoe out into the hallway and stand just outside my bedroom door, trying to listen. Whoever she’s talking to, the conversation seems to be a little heated.

“I don’t know. I can’t find anything else besides the letter. After that, there doesn’t seem to be any communication for two years.”

Ice fills my veins and my mouth falls open. Who the hell is she talking to about me and Jacob? How does she know about the letter? I need answers, so I open my door and step inside. Her back is to me as she faces my bed, the contents of my little shoebox full of items from Jacob and other mementos spread over the comforter. One hand is fisted on her hip while the other presses a cell phone to her ear.

The pounding in my ears drowns out whatever she says next as reality comes crashing down on me. Finally snapping out of my daze. I walk over to her and pluck the phone from her hand. She whips around, her eyes wide in shock as the color drains from her face.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” I shout. She watches me in stunned disbelief and paralyzing fear. I press the phone to my ear, glaring daggers at her. This gross invasion of my privacy is beyond forgivable. “Who is this?” I demand from the person on the other end of the line. I’m met with silence, then the distinctive click as the other person hangs up. I pull the phone away from my face to try to catch the name on the screen, but nothing is assigned in her contacts.

“Give me that!” My mother lunges for me, trying to wrestle her phone from my hands, but I pull back and shove a hand into her chest to hold her off.

“Who were you talking to? Why the hell is all my shit out?”

“Give me my phone!” she shouts.

“Keep your voice down,” I growl. “Chloe is asleep.”

“Why are you even home right now?” she spits accusingly, likeI’mthe one who’s doing something wrong.

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” I seethe. “Whatmattersis why you’re in my room, going through my things, talking to someone about my business!” I point to my chest, her phone clutched against my sternum. She finally stops reaching for it, her shoulders sagging in defeat. Everything begins to click into place as I try to reconcile why she would want to share my personal life with anyone.

“Was that a reporter? Areyouthe source?”

Her gaze darts away from me and penitence washes over her features.

“How could you?”

“Abby, please.” She reaches for the phone again and I jerk back.

“No!” I cry. “Answer me. Tell mewhy. I thought you were back to make amends, not fuck up my life more than you already have!”

“You don’t understand,” she claims, her tone pleading.

“You’re damn right I don't. I don’t understand how someone could do the things you’ve done to their children. What do you hope to gain from this? Do you really hate me that much?”

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