Page 143 of Changing Rules

“You know, there were days when I regretted being on the pill. If I hadn’t been, he would’ve knocked me up. Then you would’ve known I was telling you the truth. Your hatred for me prevented you from seeing that I was a victim. I needed my mom, and you turned me into a fucking villain. I was ashamed to talk to anyone, to ask for help. How could I if my own mother didn’t believe me? How could I expect anyone to support me after what you did to me?”

The words rush out of me in a steady stream. The pain I’ve held on to for so long spreads like lava after a volcanic eruption. Lethal and destructive force fuels my irritation, and fury rolls off me, singeing my skin.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask. “You despised me long before you found out about Kevin and me. Even when I was little, when I tried so hard to be the perfect daughter for you, even when I did everything you wanted. Why?”

Brow arched, she snarls, “Because I never wanted you in the first place.”

Like a knife to the chest, I’m hit with a sharp pain. It’s exactly what I thought, though it doesn’t make it hurt less.

“I had a happy life. A marriage full of passion. The perfect body. And for some stupid reason, that wasn’t enough for your father. He begged me to have a child. Because ‘without the laughter of children, a house isn’t a home.’ What a fucking joke.”

“Why did you agree?” I ask, trying hard to keep my voice even. Neutral. I’d never show her my pain. Not anymore.

“Because I loved him. So much. He was the one for me. A gentleman, kind and loving. I felt safe with him. Complete.” A shadow of sadness shrouds her features.

I’ve never seen her like this. But then again, she’s never talked to me about my dad before.

“So, I gave in. And for a while, I was even happy. I fooled myself into thinking I wanted it too. That our child would bring us closer. That you would bind us together. In reality, you only pushed us apart.”

A drop of sweat runs down my spine, and my chest aches, as if my heart is swelling from pain. “Why?”

“Because he loved you more than he loved me.” Mother shrugs. “You became the center of his world. He gave you all his attention. If you whimpered in the night, he’d get up and cuddle you, lulling you back to sleep. You took my place, and I couldn’t forgive you for it.” Her eyes well with tears, but she brushes them away. “And then he fucking died! Crashed his motorcycle, leaving me alone with you, the monster who stole the man I loved. He was gone, and I was sentenced to taking care of a child I never even wanted. I hated you from the moment I saw the way he looked at you, the way he cared about you. You’re a fucking curse, Isabella.”

Nodding, I gather my thoughts. It’s rare, but it happens. Mothers feel jealousy toward their kids because of the bond they have with their fathers. Usually, over time, it fades; my father died before that happened, before she had the chance to see that I wasn’t tearing them apart but tying them together forever. Shecould’ve loved me. Maybe she would have eventually, but the chance of that died along with my father, and instead I became a symbol of everything she hated. Of everything she never wanted.

“We could’ve had each other’s backs. We could’ve dealt with the shit life threw our way together, side by side. I could’ve given you the love you were longing for after Dad died. I could’ve filled the emptiness inside your heart,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “Instead, you pushed me away and made sure I never felt loved. At least, not by you.”

I got what I came here for. My soul aches, tarnished by her truth, damaged after the years of her abuse, and it’s hard to hold back my tears. But at the same time, I’m relieved. It isn’t my fault. I wasn’t a terrible child. Her own expectations made her this way. Her selfishness, her arrogance, and her desire to be the most important person in my father’s life made it impossible for her to love her own daughter. And this hatred is so much stronger than typical hate. She wants me gone, forever…and it’s time to make her wish come true.

Standing, I meet her gaze. There’s no physical wall between us, but it feels like there is. It’s huge and made of ice and her ignorance, strengthened by her selfishness and her animosity. It’s larger than me and her, larger than us, and for the first time in my life, I’m thankful for it.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to see how much we needed each other. I’m sorry you think of me as a curse. I’m sorry you couldn’t find even a shred of love for me in your heart. For so long, I hoped you’d notice me, maybe love me.” I take a step forward, hovering over her. “But I won’t bother you again. I don’t need this house or anything from you. I needyouto leave me alone. The moment I leave, I’ll block your number. It’s best for us both. Goodbye, Mother.”

I stride to the front door in total silence. Mother doesn’t say a word or even move. It’s better this way, though. I step outsideand let the warmth of the sun comfort me. This is the epilogue of a tragic coming-of-age story, one I’ll never read again. Enough is enough.

As I slide into the car, I stare straight ahead. Silently, Xander starts the engine, takes my hand, and drives, keeping his focus set on the road. But as he comes to a stop at the first red light, I break down. Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision, and my body trembles. I feel broken, wrecked.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, his tone gentle. “Tell me, please. Baby?—”

“I…I just need you,” I stammer between sobs. “Take me home, please.”

“Of course. I’ll do anything for you.” He squeezes my hand.

I dig my phone out of my purse, and, with shaking fingers, I block my mother’s number.

As I’m closing out of the app, an Instagram notification appears. It’s a DM. Frowning, I tap it. It’s from the private account with the setting sun profile pic. The message is an image only. A photo of me and Xander appears on my screen with the word “whore” written across my face. Goodness, I should’ve listened to my gut months ago. Instantly, I block the account, delete the message, and drop my phone in my purse.

Eyes closed, I tip my head back. Tomorrow will be better. If not, then the day after. It has to be. I got closure with my mother, and now I can move on. She can hate me; I no longer give a damn. I feel free.

“Try to rest, baby. I’ll take you home.”

“I love you, Xander,” I murmur, my eyelids growing heavy.

“I love you too, baby.” It’s the last thing that registers before I drift off.

CHAPTER 39

MOVE IN WITH ME

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