Page 216 of Bossy Hero

“For what transpired,” I parrot darkly, disgust infiltrating my tone. “Hiding my daughter from me. That’s what you’re referring to, right? Just to be clear.”

Her lips press together firmly, accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth. “Yes. I’m sorry for that.”

“Are you sorry for doing it or because you got caught?”

“Frankly, both.”

A bit of honesty. That’s refreshing.

“Is that all you have to say about it?”

“I’m not sure there’s much else to say.”

I take a sip of tea. My head kicks back at the flavor, and I have to choke it down. “Damn, that’s sweet.”

Her haughty facade slips briefly. “Um, yeah. It’s tea,” she responds with annoyance, reminding me of Lettie when she’s huffy about something.

I’ll let the unprompted thought of my daughter serve as a warning to keep my cool. The woman in front of me, for all her faults, raised Lettie with her version of love. As bitter as that thought tastes, it makes her worthy of some measure of respect. In a weird fucking way that I’ll likely never fully unpack.

This woman also lost her daughter at a tragically young age.

I know better than most how grief can change us.

With that thought, I adjust my approach. She’s obviously not going to be open and forthright with me unless I prompt her more. Given her disposition, I think I’ll start with manners.

“Mrs. Holt,” I start, injecting some warmth and respect into my tone. Even if it kills me. “I was very sorry to learn of Abby’s passing. She was a kind, funny, caring woman. My sincerest condolences.”

For the first time, I get a glimpse of her humanity. Her jowls sag, pulling her lips into a frown. And the eyes that were full of condescension and annoyance reveal the fractures of grief.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Losing her must have been hard.”

Her chin quivers. “It was agony.”

“I can relate. In battle, we lost a lot of good men and women. Most of them still had the best years of their lives ahead of them. I also lost my brother when he was only seventeen. He hadn’t even begun to live yet.”

My vocal cords threaten to freeze at the memory of Daniel and what his final minutes must have been like. But I push it away and focus on what I came here to do.

Revealing her true colors, Charlene adds a touch of exasperation to her response, dismissing my attempt to establish common ground. “While those are certainly tragic losses, it’s nothing like losing a child. You can’t begin to fathom the pain I’ve endured every day since she left us.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to lash out at her. Instead, I ask, “Abby’s been gone for twenty-six years, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. We have that in common. I’ve also been without my daughter for twenty-six years.”

Her lips part, and a dainty gasp escapes. Although she wants to object and point out the differences in my comparison, she doesn’t. I’ll give her credit for that.

Not all narcissists are capable of holding their tongue when someone threatens their beliefs. In this instance, she sees herself as the victim and regards her suffering above all others.

It’s time for a reality check.

“Charlene, I know you didn’t like me back then, and I won’t pretend I was a perfect man. But I cared about Abby.”

“You stole her innocence,” she seethes.

“I treated her with respect, and we both know she wanted me in our daughter’s life. I would have done everything in my power to love and care for Violet. I wasn’t some homeless, jobless punk kid. I was a grown man with the means and capability to raise a child. You had no right to deny me that.”

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