Page 41 of Unleashed
“You knew I was pregnant the moment I walked in,” I whisper. “And you never once asked if I was okay.”
“I assumed if something were wrong, Anthony would’ve said.”
I laugh. A dry, bitter sound that tastes like acid in my throat. “Of course. Becausehisword carries more weight than mine.”
“Because you’re dramatic.”
“I need you, Mom.”
“What about what I need?” She softens, but not kindly—more like a condolence given out of etiquette. “I’m sorry, Everly, but I can’t do this. I don’t have the strength. I lost my husband. I’m losing my body. And the last thing I need is to be reminded of the life I lost because of my selfish daughter.”
Her words settle over me like cinder, and something inside me wilts. Hope is drained out of my muscles, leaving only the rejection, the ache, and it all folds in on itself, and what’s left is just an emptiness that comes with being completely…and utterly…alone.
She steps forward and gently, so gently, reaches up to adjust her wig, fingers smoothing a strand in place. “If you don’t mind, I’m exhausted, and I do not have the strength to continue this conversation with you right now.”
I wipe at my face, but the ache doesn’t leave. It’s not just in my chest. It’s everywhere. “You mean you don’t have the strength forme. Your daughter.” I place my hand on my belly. “Your grandchild.”
As her gaze drops to my hand, I beg silently—see me, please, just see me.But when her eyes lift, they hold nothing but a glacial detachment. “That child is nothing of mine.”
It isn’t a blade. It’s a mother’s rejection turned to shrapnel, shredding through me in a way no enemy, no bullet, no man ever could.
She turns. Heels clicking against the floor. Each step final, cold, echoing like nails in a coffin. Not once does she look back. But I can’t get myself to turn away because the ten-year-old child in me is hoping her mother will pause halfway, glance over her shoulder and whisper the words, ‘I’m sorry.’
She doesn’t.
The sound of her leaving is louder than her voice. Louder than my heartbeat. Louder than anything.
We’ve had so many fights, so many screaming matches, words hurled like daggers that always seemed impossible to take back. But no matter how brutal they were, some fragile part of me still believed there was a thread tying us together, something that could be mended if we just pulled hard enough.
But this time is different. This time, the thread is gone. Cut clean. Burned to ash.
This isn’t a fight we’ll recover from. This is an ending.
A trembling hand flies to my mouth, stifling the cry clawing its way out. My vision blurs until the hallway dissolves into nothingbut shadows and grief. I collapse, knees striking the floor, the cold rushing through my skin like punishment. Everything comes crashing down all at once until I can hardly breathe through the sobs, can’t find the edges of myself.
There’s no hope. Not in this moment. Not right now. The light’s been snuffed out by my mother’s rejection in a time when I have to learn how to be a mother myself.
A crack of doubt tears through me. A whisper sharp enough to bleed.What if I can’t do this? What if I don’t have it in me to continue fighting—not for me, not even for this baby?With nothing left, with no one left, the strength to get up feels unattainably distant.
I’ve been gone for months, but not a single day passed that I didn’t think of her. My mother. The woman who raised me, who should’ve been the one safe place in a world that’s only ever taken. I pictured her at night, sitting alone at the kitchen table. I worried she was drowning in grief and fear all alone, without me there. I hated the thought of her suffering alone. And all this time she’s been blaming me. Hating me. Hoping I’dnevercome back.
The ache of that knowledge is worse than Isaia’s lies, his absence, worse than Anthony going behind my back, spinning invisible threads that’ll eventually lead to control. Because no one can carve you open like your own mother. No one else can look at the pieces of you and decide you’re unworthy of love. It’s a pain that doesn’t just cut—it brands. Bone deep. Permanent.
And sitting here on the cold floor, my hands clutching my stomach, all I can think is that my baby will never have a grandmother’s arms to run to. That the cycle of rejection isalready written. I’m not just motherless. I’m unwanted.We’reunwanted.
As I wipe at my tears, allowing the pain to crack me wide open, a thought slides in through the tears.
Did Isaia know? Did he know my mother blamed me? Is that why he kept me from calling? Kept me from reaching out to her?
Was he…
Was he protecting me?
Chapter 13
EVERLY
The smell of burnt coffee and grease clings to the air, heavy enough to coat the back of my throat. A half-empty diner at sundown, neon signs buzzing above cracked vinyl booths, is the last place I thought I’d end up. But here I am. Hands wrapped around a chipped mug that’s gone lukewarm, eyes flicking to the door every time it groans open.
