Page 217 of Bossy Hero

Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly like she’s fumbling to form words.

As for me? I’ve got plenty to say.

I clench my fist, count to three in my head, and rein in my temper. “Let’s be perfectly clear. You made a choice. You took action to deny me and Lettie of our relationship. This wasn’t just something that happened around you. You made a conscious decision. I’m not gonna sit here and let you justify your actions as happenstance. So whatever you’re about to say, it better not paint you as the victim.”

She doubles down on her version of events. “Alan, you must understand something. We were in a state ofimmensegrief. I was mourning, making arrangements to bury my only child. You can’t possibly understand what that’s like. It defies the natural order of things. The mother is supposed to go first. Losing Abby nearly killed me.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. It’s almost enough to make me feel bad for her.

Almost.

“Violet is my daughter.Mine. Not yours. Abby put my name on the birth registration paperwork in the hospital. She wanted me in Lettie’s life. You had it in black and white. The ink hadn’t even dried when you decided to deny me and your daughter of our parental rights. Plus, you denied your granddaughter as well. What aboutthatnatural order, huh? You’re here crying because you lost your child, which is tragic. But what you don’t seem to acknowledge is that you processed your grief by taking away someone else’s daughter.”

“We-we lost our Abigail,” she stammers, still refusing to see past the end of her nose.

“And I lost my only chance to be a father. To raise my daughter. To teach her how to walk, talk, swim, throw a damn ball, or drive. I didn’t get to read her stories at bedtime or drop her off at school. I wasn’t there to take pictures of her before her prom and threaten her boyfriend to keep his hands off her. All those experiences and more. You stole them from me and Violet. Memories neither of us can ever get back.”

She looks away, unable to face the pain she’s caused.

Coward.

Undeterred, I continue unloading on her. “I understand that you were grieving, but that’snotan excuse. Did you ever think about anyone other than yourself? Given how you treated me back then, I imagine you didn’t give two shits what would happen to me when I found out. However, what about the granddaughter you claim to love? Can you imagine the trust issues she’s gonna have for the rest of her life, knowing the people who raised her lied to her face every single day? Did you consider any of that? You had to know what you were doing was wrong. But you did it anyway. I deserve to know why, and I deserve an honest apology.”

My shoulder blades slam into the back of the chair as I lean away from the table forcefully.

For a long time, the only sounds are my raucous breathing and her occasional sniffles. Unfortunately, they’re crocodile tears.

While she figures out how to respond, I probe deep into her misty eyes. I doubt she’s going to give me an honest explanation voluntarily. I need to extract it.

“You’re right,” she finally admits, a quiver in her voice. “All of it. You’re right.”

Looking past her tired eyes, I’m surprised to see her response is genuine. I suspect she’s done making excuses for her behavior. Or, at a minimum, she’ll be more inclined to be honest with herself and me.

One thing is clear—Charlene has never stopped grieving for her daughter. The pain and sorrow inside her have withered and rotted, spoiling every part of her.

“Why did you do it?”

“I was being selfish. It’s exactly like you said. I only cared about my suffering and was trying to replace what I lost. I made a lot of mistakes raising Abby. And I never got a chance to make them right. She was taken from me before I could fix things, and it left a hole inside of me. Sadly, Violet didn’t fill the void. I ended up resenting her. Not only because my daughter died bringing Lettie into the world but also because she was so different from Abby. The more I tried to guide her, the more she resisted. She’s stubborn and headstrong. Every day, she reminded me of the daughter I lost. I’ll always love Violet. Unfortunately, she’ll never be Abby.”

Of course she’ll never be Abby. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

She must realize how fucked up this sounds.

No. Not just how itsounds. It truly is fucked up. In every sense of the word.

While I do sense Charlene is finally being truthful with me, her guilt and shame aren’t because of what she did to Lettie and me. I can’t rationalize that for her or make her understand where she went wrong. And I can’t force her to feel remorse over her actions when she’s incapable of empathy and compassion.

I’m unsure if that makes her a narcissist or a sociopath. Maybe she’s both.

With a forced calmness, I say, “I don’t want to put words in your mouth. After tonight, we probably won’t ever speak again. When I leave here, I want to do so with the correct impression. Are you saying that you kept Lettie from me for yourself rather than to punish me?”

She nods.

I continue. “And then you proceeded to try to raise Violet to be a replica of Abby? Not only because you missed your daughter but because you wanted another chance?”

She shrugs timidly, seemingly growing uncomfortable at how I’m recapping this.

Well, tough shit. I’m uncomfortable listening to how her twisted mind processed her grief. It’s only fair she feels the same.

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