Page 106 of Left-Hand Larceny

“I don’t even know who I am,” I say. “You didn’t raise me to find myself. You raised me to fit. To be polite. To smile. To succeed.”

Her face softens. “Honey…”

“And Christian?” I laugh, bitter. “He was the worst two years of my life. He made everything my fault. Took out every ounce of anger on me. And I believed him. Because I’ve been trained to put everyone else first.”

Her hands tremble around her mug. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him. Because you wanted us together.”

“We didn’t know.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I didn’t feel like I could give you the chance to know. Because I was afraid. Of what it would mean if you picked him over me.”

She’s quiet. Horror blooming behind her eyes.

“I didn’t know it could be different,” I say. “Until Ragnar.”

That lands hard.

“That’s right,” I continue. “The man you think I shouldn’t see. He’s the first person who actually listens to me. Who makes me feel smart and worthy as opposed to broken.”

She tries to speak. I keep going.

“I’m failing stats. I can’t retain anything. The numbers just vanish. I’m pushing myself through something I hate, and for what?”

“What do you want?” she asks, quietly.

I blink. “What?”

“I’m asking,” she says. “What do you want?”

I stare at her.

“I want a dog,” I say finally. “Or a hedgehog. I want to paint my walls pink and cover them in glitter. I want to take photos of places I’ve never been. I want to start a travel blog, even if noone reads it. I want the space to learn who I am when I’m not terrified of failing you.”

I pause.

“And I think… I want Ragnar.”

She sets the mug down. Comes to me. Doesn’t touch. Just looks.

“You’re not failing me,” she says. “You never have. I’m so sorry you thought you couldn’t tell me who you are. I want to know you, the real Sadie. I want her to know I’m lucky to be her mom.”

For a long time, we just stand there.

And for the first time, I let her see me.

Howl shat in my shoe. Not on the rug. Not by the door like a polite delinquent. No—in the shoe. I stare down at the damage while he pants beside me, wagging his tail like we’re celebrating a major accomplishment.

“That w-was uncalled for,” I tell him flatly.

He blinks.

“I was g-gone for t-t-two hours.”

He blinks again. Tilts his head.

“Sadie misses me less in two hours.”

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