Page 90 of Their Broken Legend

At the far end, a woman sits quietly with her thighs pressed together, heels crossed at her ankles. She stands out. Much like we do. Dusting her flawless skirt, she smooths the wrinkles that don’t exist. She looks nervous. Looks kind of like my mum… My forehead tightens with suspicion. I study the woman, auburn hair, blue eyes—oh God.

It’s one of his floozies.

Fuck me.

I recognise her.

Instinct takes hold, jolting me to my feet. I grab Mum’s leather purse from the seat beside her. “We’re going.”

Startled, she presses her hand over her chest, leaning back into the chair as though I’m about to rip her from it. “What’s gotten into you? I have your father’s book.”

Natalie glares up from her Kindle. “Sit down, you weirdo. You’re making a scene.”

Ugh.And we can’t have that.I ignore her and drag Mum up by her elbow. Pulling her out the glass swinging doors, I beg her, “Please, let’s go.”

“Kaya Alana! What on Earth?” Following my lead until we are a few metres from the entrance, she doesn’t fight me.

Not really.

Releasing her elbow, I whirl around to face her. “Fuck his book.Sheis in there, Mum!”

A small gasp leaves her plum-painted lips, but just as quick as that sound, she schools her shock and presses her palms to her necklace with protective pressure. “I have his book.”

What the actual fuck!

“Why?” Agitation builds inside my ears, my pulse a train rushing past me. “Why do you do this.” It wasn’t a question. “Why!”

She answers me anyway, chanting whatever bullshit coos her to submission every time this happens. “I am his wife. I have his book. I have—”

“Fuck his book!” I spit out. “You don’t—"

“He is my husband.”

I scoff. “Does he know that?”

Her voice pitches to a rare volume. “He’s your father!”

Suddenly, people approach. We both clear our throats and glance askance as a young family scoot past, entering the waiting room but not before peering back with intrigue.

On the other side of the glass door, my sisters stand in shocked silence, transfixed by the commotion we are causing. So out of character for a Lovit woman.

“So what,” I say quietly and then louder for Mum to hear. I stare at her intently. “So what, Mum.”

“So…” She stammers to a painful pause. “I’ll loseyou.”

Fuck.

My heart pinches inside my chest, but I still sneer. “What? You’ll losemoney.”

A slap would have painted less pain across her face. And as I said it, I knew it was bullshit. My gaze drops to the book clutched in her slender fist—still serving him without money. Still cleaning our rooms to contrived perfection without any visitors. It’s… all she is.Us.

A memory chips into my mind, of my mum sitting in the car with us when we arrived back at the house after the camping trip. The pregnant woman was on the step. All these accusations were flying. Mum told us that the woman was confused and to not be scared. And to not judge her. Not everyone is as lucky as us. I also remember Mum crying. I thought it was because the woman ruined her perfect holiday but— Now, I see her heart was breaking. “You stayed with him for us.” I realise through an airy exhale.

She glances away. “Not now, Kaya.”

I step toward her, forcing an unavoidable intimacy. Getting in her space, I press, “You stayed with him because you thoughtIwould leave you. To live with him. Didn’t you?”

The conversation with Mac sails through the present discussion like a plane with an announcement banner or a jet writing words in the sky. Obvious. To everyone—but me. Mac alluded to as much. That damn Mazda driving Beach-bum-Oracle was right.

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