Page 39 of Unleashed
The scent hits me instantly—that same cold, floral perfume she’s worn for as long as I can remember. Powdery gardenias and something sharper underneath, like metal and memory. It clings to her silk blouse, familiar and distant all at once. The kind of scent that never changes, even when everything else does.
It smells like my childhood. Like closed doors and quiet dinners. Like control disguised as elegance. Like the nights I cried into my pillow, wishing she'd just hold me like this—and the mornings she passed me in the hallway without meeting my eyes.
Now she holds me. But it’s stiff. Careful. Like she’s afraid my grief might stain her clothes.
And still—I don’t pull away.
Because even this… eventhisis better than standing alone.
Time blurs, minutes swallowed whole in the flood of grief and the rare, fragile safety of her arms. When I finally pull back, my face is soaked, eyes swollen, chest raw from sobbing. I look ather, desperate to find warmth in her eyes, any kind of sign that she needs this moment as much as I do.
But her expression is ice. Eyes hard. Mouth flat and cold. And dread clamps down around me.
“Everly.” She says my name like it’s a mild inconvenience. A bitter pill she has to swallow. “What are you doing here?”
“I…uh,” I wipe my cheeks, squaring my shoulders the way she taught me. “I needed to see you.”
“I wish you had called first.” Her voice cuts, low and brittle, each word a blade.
My stomach lurches, a hollow ache spreading as I take a step back. “I didn’t know I needed an appointment to see my mother.”
“You shouldn’t have come here, Everly.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you started treatment, but?—”
With a wave of her hand, she silences me, her expression nothing more than sharp indifference. “You really think I’m that petty? That I would harbor resentment over your absence the last few months?”
I stare at her, taken aback, bewilderment pinching my brows together. “Then…what? Why are you looking at me like I’m the world’s worst disappointment?”
“Disappointment implies that I expected something better from you.” Her arms cross, the fabric of her blouse creasing sharply under the tension. Her eyes are cold, sharp—cutting straight through me. “What are you doing here, Everly?”
“I needed to see you.” I suck in a breath.
“Fine. You saw me.”
“Mom, please?—”
“I lost everything because of you.”
Her words hit like water dumped over fire—sudden, scalding, extinguishing whatever hope still flickered in my chest. I stammer back. “Mom…what are you…what are you saying?”
Uncrossing her arms, she clasps her hands together in front of her—always the conservative, composed woman. “You made choices, Everly. Choices that cost me everything.”
I’m sure I can hear my heart crack through my ribs. “That’s not?—”
“Because of you, I lost the man I loved and am now a widow. A woman with cancer, and no husband to support me during the hardest time of my life.”
“I didn’t kill Michele.” I shake my head. “I didn’t pull that trigger.”
“But your husband did.”
My stomach bottoms out. “You…you know?”
She tilts her chin higher, that same elegant defiance she’s always worn like perfume. “Of course, I know.” Her tone is clipped, refined. Cruel.
“Anthony,” I whisper, not as a question, but rather a statement.
“Poor man was devastated. You broke his heart. The one man who has been nothing but good to you.”
