Page 31 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

My blood runs cold but I don’t say anything, not yet.

“I was so tired. You wouldn’t sleep. You wouldn’t eat. You just screamed and screamed. So I-”

“You what?” I snarl through my teeth.

“I locked you in the bathroom, and went on a walk.” She nods to herself, like she has practiced this story millions of times.

“For how long?” I whisper, afraid of the answer.

“Three days.” She chokes out as if it hurts and I gasp, clutching my chest.

“You locked me in a room for three fucking days?!” I scream.

“I couldn’t do it, Willow. Your father found you after he got back from a work trip, and I tried to repent. I tried to be a mother, but I don’t have that gene.” Tears rush down her cheeks like a storm and I shake at the words. “I had postpartum depression after you were born. I was so disconnected from myself and you.”

“You had postpartum?” I whisper, my voice cracking as I finally look into her eyes.

She nods slowly, her face twisted in pain. “We thought that was all it was. I hated the way I looked. I couldn’t connect with you. I didn’t know how, but then the depression lasted for years, and there were moments of happiness but for the most part I felt nothing.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means don’t you think I hate myself for leaving you? Don’t you think I hate myself enough for the both of us? I tried, okay? I tried.” She inhales sharply. “I came back so many times. I tried to get help, and then one day I felt nothing, Willow.”

“Nothing?” I question looking down at my thick tan brown hospital socks.

“I mean one day I got up and I didn’t love me, your dad, you, life.” She shakes her head. “It was scary. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Mom, what are you telling me?”

Her voice cracks as she continues. “It was like everything inside me just... shut off. I didn’t feel anything. Not love, not anger, not even sadness. Just this empty void. It’s called Dysthymia. It’s a depression that doesn’t let you live, doesn’t let youfeelanything the way you’re supposed to.” She chokes on the words, trying to hold herself together but failing.

I stand frozen, her words hitting me like a wave I didn’t expect, drowning me in their weight. My hands tremble at my sides, the anger still there, but now, it's tangled with empathy.

"You—" My voice catches. "You’ve been living like this?For years?"

She nods, her eyes downcast as she clutches at her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. “It’s been my whole life, Willow. And I’m not asking for your forgiveness now. I don’t deserve it. But I need you to know. I need you to know that I wasn’t just neglecting you because I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. I couldn’t even care about myself.” Her hands shake as she wipes at her face, but the tears keep coming. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d have a better life without me dragging you down.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” The question escapes me before I can stop it, the hurt in my voice so raw, I don’t recognize it. “Why couldn’t you tell me thatthen—when I needed you most?”

Octavia stares at me, her eyes dark with regret. “I was too ashamed. I was too far gone by the time I realized it wasn’t just me. You deserved more than the scraps I could give you. And I didn’t think I could ever fix it.”

A heavy silence falls between us, and I feel the truth of her words sinking in. Slowly, like the pressure of a thousand years finally breaking through a wall I’d built around myself.

“I don’t know how to feel about any of this,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I spent my whole life hating you.Needingyou, and you never showed up. Now, you’re telling me you couldn’t show up because you were broken? I don’t know what to do with that.”

She takes a step forward, her frail form shaky but determined. “I know, Willow. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But I’m asking you for a chance. Not to fix things—I know I can’t do that. But maybe... maybe we can try to befriends. Even if it's just for now.”

I look at her, the woman who gave birth to me, the woman who hurt me more than I could ever explain, and I feel something I don’t expect:softness.

“I-I have to think about it,” I whisper. “I can’t. I just-”

“Sleep on it, baby. I can live with whatever choice you make.”

10

CAST

The last thing Willow says to me before the surgery after kissing Damien and blushing at Vincent, is not to kill Vincent. I laugh at her but agree anyway as I kiss her forehead, so softly it feels out of character for me.

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