Page 62 of The Masks We Break

The jump from what I asked to him talking about my mom has my head spinning. The storm that always comes when I think of her looms overhead, waiting for the right moment.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words stick in my suddenly dry throat, realizing what he just said.

He knew my mother?

He runs a hand through his thin graying hair and shifts. “I’d hoped you’d be more like her and have more tenacity with your involvement.”

Finally, I find my voice, though it’s pinched and weak, the frustration swirling in my gut making it hard to care. “What are you talking about? Please… just...” My eyes burn, but I’m tired of freaking crying, so I rub them raw until the temptation subsides. “I don’t understand.”

“Technically you own the school, Remy.”

What?

I shake my head. “You’re mistaken, Dr. Humphrey. My father, he…”

“Is a shareholder with fewer shares than you,” he finishes.

The way he says it, as if he hasn’t just ripped the rug from under my feet, has my head throbbing.

How would he know this? How do I not? What am I supposed to do with this information? Dozens of questions filter in, each one piling up as the storm overhead rumbles, sending tremors down my arms. But I refuse to give in and instead ask what I want answered most.

“How did you know my mother?”

Dr. Humphrey leans over his desk, folding his hand as though he’s not going to drop a bomb in my chest. “I met your mother in college, our freshman year. Even though she was going the doctoral route, we shared some of our literature classes, it was a deep passion of hers. When you were in my class, I thought I saw that same passion in your eyes, but after realizing you were following after your father... your mother was a strong woman, with so much potential.”

His voice cracks at the same time my cheek stings, the memory of my father’s hand connecting with my face.

You killed her.

Guilt moves in and sits on my shoulders, forcing me to curl in under the weight. That’s probably why the professor’s cruel to me—blames me for her death too.

I can’t do this. Bracing my hands on the chair’s arm I begin to stand, but he holds up a hand.

He clears his throat and continues, “When your mother bought the academy, she asked me to run the lit department, but wanted my input on other facilities as well. We worked hard creating what the school is now, but your father only gave her five years to finish before she needed to go back to the hospital. When that time came, she left. I’d hope she’d come back one day, continue to propel the school to its greatest potential, but…”

“She never could because of me.” My voice breaks as I finish what I know he wants to say.

“Why in the world would you think it’s because of you?” His bushy brows furrow.

I swallow harshly, shrugging as I watch my hands rub against my jeans. If I speak now, I won’t be able to reel myself in, and the last thing I want to do is have a panic attack in front of him.

“Her death had nothing to do with you, Remy. And forgive my forwardness, but if it’s anyone’s fault, it was your father’s.”

My head snaps up, heat prickling along my extremities.

Dr. Humphrey leans back. I assume he’s considering his next words as he gauges my reaction. “Your mother had a preexisting condition that caused her to bleed out during labor. From what I was told, he waited too long to take her in and she lost so much blood...”

The cloud above breaks open, the overwhelming sadness raining down and pelting my skin.

I can’t breathe.

I need to leave.

Clutching at my chest, I shake my head frantically, my fight against tears lost as they burn down my face. I knew my father’s thinking was flawed, but never would I think he was projecting his own vile reality onto me.

“I’m sorry, Remy. Truly, I…”

“T-thank you for your t-time.” I stand, the overwhelming mix of emotions twisting my entire body into knots. My entire chest cavity feels broken, and still no intake of air feels like enough. Really, he hasn’t told me anything I hadn’t partially known, except the fact I somehow hold shares, but listening to the story of her death...

---