Page 152 of The Otherworld

I never wanted children.

I wasn’t prepared to throw away my life like that.

If Mama had stayed with Papa and me, that’s what she would have seen it as: a waste of her life. A never-ending cycle of chores. Boredom. Loneliness. Misery.

I swallow back the ache of tears in my throat, reaching for Adam’s hand. A question burns in his eyes. Do you want to leave?

I shake my head. Not because I don’t want to—every part of me wants to leave this shiny, perfect apartment and go somewhere quiet and secluded where I can cry in Adam’s arms.

But I need to stay. I need to face her.

I am strong enough.

I am capable of anything.

“Are you happy here, Mama?”

She turns sharply to face me at that word, Mama. I wonder if she ever heard me call her that before. I wonder if she stayed long enough to hear my first words.

“I am,” she replies with a diplomatic smile. “I have a wonderful husband who respects me as a businesswoman and his wife.”

Perhaps that shouldn’t feel like a slap across the face. But it does.

“Alexander and I mutually agreed that children didn’t suit our lifestyle. No distractions. We focused completely on our careers.”

I want to say, A career can’t kiss you goodnight.

A career can’t sing you happy birthday, can’t bake you a cake and throw you a surprise party.

A career can’t make up stories with you, braid your hair, or dance in the kitchen with you.

A career can’t say I love you.

“I hope you’re happy too, Orca,” Mama says at last. “I hope you don’t let your father tie you down or stop you from pursuing the life you want. Never forget that—it’s your life, not his.”

I nod slowly, looking down at Adam’s hand in mine.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my meeting.” Mama taps the face of her watch, striding across the apartment to swing open the door. “It was good to see you’re doing so well, Orca. Thank you for stopping by. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again someday.”

She says it with a lilt in her voice and a pleasant smile on her lips, but somehow it feels like a long, sharp blade sinking through my chest.

It’s not the way a mother ought to say goodbye.

Still holding Adam’s hand, I make my way to the door where she stands, waiting for us to depart. I stop to face her one last time, whispering through the lump in my throat, “Thank you for your time. I’m glad I got the chance to meet you. I’m glad you’re alive.”

I turn away before she can see my tears.

47

Hero and Leander

ADAM

Orca doesn’t speak on the drive home. She’s still in shock, and who can blame her?

That meeting was worse than I’d anticipated.

I don’t want to make her talk about it, but I also can’t talk about anything else. So we spend the drive in contemplative silence—her sniffling and wiping her eyes as she stares out the passenger window, me blaming myself for this whole damn mess.

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