Page 38 of Cup of Lies

I don’t remember her being like that. The woman from my nightmarish past that was surgically removed from my mind is less terrifying in the flesh. If anything, my anger toward her feels like the abdominal force here.

If she’s afraid, she doesn’t let on.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Vivienne says, voice soft, reminding me of a gentle, kindergarten teacher.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The red, pointy fingernails are the claws of a predator.

I harness my anger and disgust toward this woman, straddling it like a wild bronco. I’m not going to get bucked off this time. This ain’t my first rodeo. I’m a veteran now, and things change when you have a child and a baby relying on you.

“Spill it,” I snip, words slapping at her. “No games. This isn’t your journal and I’m not your reader. Get to the point or get out.”

Her eyebrows furl, the first crack in her sweet facade. “You’re just like him, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Your father.” Her nostrils flare. “Cruel.”

Thankfully, Eva steps in before I clobber this woman.

“You promised,” Eva hisses. “You have much to atone for. You said that yourself. Don’t make me regret inviting you here.”

Vivienne’s face crumples into a childlike pout as though she might burst into tears. I don’t fall for it. Eva withers a bit but remains strong for me.

“Go on,” Eva urges. “Tell her the truth. All of it.”

“She’s not your mom,” Vivienne says with a huff of disgust, jabbing a red fingernail in Eva’s direction. “Your real mom took you from a terrible place. I never got the thanks I deserved for that.”

I’ve known all along.

I just need to hear her say it.

“The theatrics are boring,” I state. “Continue.”

Vivienne scowls. “I’m your mother. Your birth mother. Everyone lied to you, Ro-La.”

I shudder at the nickname. “Do not ever call me that again.”

Her shoulders hunch. “Despite what I did when I was unwell, I loved you. We had good times together.”

Unfortunately, I remember the good times. She was more of a mother than a nanny when I was young. I’d been told otherwise, though, so I never truly believed she was my mom.

“Unwell,” I say with a scoff. “That’s what we’re calling molestation these days. Got it.”

If Vivienne is hurt about being called out for what she is—a child predator—she doesn’t let on. Not a flinch or even the sense to take her gaze from mine. This woman isn’t remorseful, that much is certain.

“According to what I remember from your journal entries, you left a facility and my dad took you in. You’re saying…” I trail off, wanting her to finish that painful statement for me.

“He’s not your real father. Dr. Huxley is.”

The greasy bacon roils violently in my gut. Despite the acid burning at my throat, I wave at her to continue.

“I was his patient. I thought he loved me. Looking back, it was rape. Or, at the very least, taking advantage of his position of power.”

It’s rich for her to play the victim now, especially after what she did to her own daughter and Kaitlyn.

“Doc Junior is my half-brother?”

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