Page 61 of Absolution

I stare at him not saying a word. I want to fight back. I want to say something sharp, cut him down, deny him, remind him I’m not the monster he is.

But I can’t. Because the worst part is, I’m not the good guy, not anymore.

So, I do the only thing I can, I get back in the car.

He follows a beat later, smirking like he won.

Neither of us says a word the entire ride back. The silence is thick, choking. I can smell the smoke from the lounge still clinging to my clothes.

When we pull into the driveway, my father doesn’t even put the car in park before muttering, “You’ll see, kid. One day you’ll thank me for telling you the truth.”

I step out, closing the car door behind me. Through the living room windows, I see the kids gathered around a puzzle or maybe a board game, their heads bowed together in concentration.

And just behind them, my mother.

She’s sitting straight in one of her ridiculous white wingback chairs, a book in her hand and a cup beside her. Calm. Collected. Elegant as ever.

She doesn’t see me watching. But I watch anyway.

And suddenly, I don’t see the woman who planned every Greyson holiday with military precision.

I don’t see the woman who was barely around when I was growing up.

I see the woman who had no choice. Who made the best of a prison cell.

I’ve never met her parents, though I know they were alive well into my teenage years. I asked her about them once. She got this distant look in her eyes before changing the subject. I never pushed.

But now, for the first time, I try to imagine it, what it must’ve felt like to be a daughter someone could love, then throw away like a burden.

How do you survive that?

How do you learn to love after that?

I don’t say any of this aloud.

Just open the door, step into the house, and call out, “There’s been a work emergency.”

My mother rises instantly, smoothing her skirt.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Client fallout. I need to be back in Austin ASAP.”

“Are you taking the children?”

I nod. “I’ll book flights now. Can you help them pack?”

She doesn't hesitate. “Of course.”

I turn to Iris, Jemma, and Levi. “Pack up, team. We’re heading home.”

“But…” Jemma starts to whine, but stops at the look on my face.

“We’ll come back,” I say, not meaning it.

Within twenty minutes, bags are zipped, gifts are gathered, tablets charged. I hold Levi’s medication bag like a lifeline and keep myself busy until the car pulls around.

My father doesn't come down to say goodbye.

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