Page 60 of Too Good for Words (Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance)

“Well, of course, but—”

He launched the killing blow. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to him, none of this would have happened.”

She paled and staggered, as if he had landed a physical punch. “How can you say that?”

“Easily.” He almost gagged at the lie. “You were with me having a dirty weekend when you should have been at home keeping an eye on your delinquent son.”

Her voice trembled, bewilderment pinching the corners of her eyes. “B-but you said I had to let him grow up. Let him make his own mistakes.”

“Yeah, but that was before his mistakes almost got my daughter assaulted.” Forcing his feet to move, he opened the door. “You should leave now.”

PENTA WENT.

Her mind a blank, she drove home, opened the garage, parked neatly beside the empty space where Felix’s car went, got out of the van, closed the overhead door, went inside the house—

—and came to a halt in the kitchen, unsure of what to do next.

The safe familiar space seemed alien, foreign. Or maybe that was the wasteland inside her.

Cash’s ferocity had smashed everything she knew about herself, everything she’d tried to be, into tiny, agonized fragments.

He’d accused her of ignoring her child. Of putting herself before her son’s well-being.

It was an unfathomable concept.

She needed time to think. Time to process what had just happened. She’d gone to Cash knowing there might be an argument, a disagreement. She hadn’t fooled herself into thinking he’d be pleased by Cyril’s explanations and excuses. But she’d never dreamed he’d kick her out, break off their relationship, accuse her of being neglectful.

Her brain kept short-circuiting, her fingers trembling with overwhelming emotion.

She had no idea how long she stood there before Cyril came bounding up from the basement. He showed no signs of yesterday’s incapacitation, displaying the exasperating resilience of youth. Barely tossing her a glance, he headed for the fridge.

“What’s for dinner?” He loaded his arms with packages of deli meat, cheese, mustard, and mayo, nudged the door shut with his elbow, and placed everything on the counter.

She shook herself out of her fugue, watching with bemusement as he set about making his mid-afternoon snack. “I don’t know.”

Cyril paused in the motion of extracting four slices of bread from the plastic-wrapped loaf. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” It took supreme effort to smile reassuringly.

Apparently, the attempt was wasted. If anything, Cyril’s concern deepened. “Are you sure? You look kinda pale.”

She felt pale. As if all the colour had leached from her life, washed away by Cash’s accusations and rejection. “Maybe I’m coming down with something. I might have a nap.”

“You never nap.” Cyril abandoned his sandwich-making and approached. “Weren’t you going to see Cash today?”

The knot lodged under her breastbone ascended into her throat. She spoke around it, half-choking. “I did. He understands. He doesn’t blame you anymore.” No. His blame had shifted to her, a thought that continued to confuse and befuddle her.

Cyril squinted, focused and intent. “That’s good, right? Why do you look so sad, then?”

“It has nothing to do with Cash.” It has everything to do with Cash. She couldn’t help it. Tears welled and the back of her nose burned. She sniffed and turned to the sink, dampening a cloth and wiping the already clean counter. “I’m just missing the girls, I guess.”

“Mom.” Cyril’s tone was so gentle, so...adult that she almost sobbed. “Did you and Cash break up? Is it my fault?”

She spun on her heel. “No,” she said fiercely. “Well, yes, we broke up. But it is not your fault.”

“Then why? I thought you liked him.”

“I do.” I love him. Much good that did her now. “He thought it was for the best.”

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