Page 154 of Never After Us
I open my mouth—ready to say I’m not—but Alec shakes his head gently behind her, and the reminder sinks in.We’ve talked through this.I keep telling myself that my anger is valid, that my confusion is real, that what she hid from me changed everything ...but none of that erases the love she gave me since the day I was placed in her arms.Her personality may drive me fucking insane, but she loved me with every atom she has.
This is why I didn’t want her here yet.Because I’m afraid of hurting her.Because I’m still sorting through all the pieces of myself they unknowingly fractured.
“Why don’t we have breakfast?”I suggest, forcing a breath.“Mila has an early class, and we can talk after.”
“I’m learning French,” Mila chirps, bouncing on her toes.“I know lots of words, but I want to be fluent next time we go.”
“You’re going to France?”Mom frowns.“I thought you’d be here for at least a year—that’s what Mr.Hanley told me.”
Of course he told her that.
“No, we’re going with his bandmate-riends.”Mila points at Alec.
I shoot Alec a look.He gives me the most innocent shrug imaginable.Of course this is him—and his friends, and their newfound obsession with traveling the world now that they finally have time to breathe.
And just like that, my morning transforms into something fragile, complicated, and tangled—hope sitting beside anger, longing brushing against fear, and somewhere in the middle, the quiet truth I haven’t told anyone yet.
I love Alec.And I have absolutely no idea what happens next, but it shouldn’t involve my meddling mother.
Once Mila’s tutor arrives,Mom and I move into the office I almost never use.Through the closed door, I can faintly hear Mila greeting her tutor and Alec speaking French in that low voice he uses when he’s concentrating.It gives me nearly two hours alone with the woman who raised me.Almost two hours to peel back truths we’ve been avoiding for years—mostly Mom.
“I’m still mad at you,” I say, turning to face her.My throat tightens, my palms warm.“You should’ve told me.”
Mom nods, but her gaze drops to her hands.“There was never a good time,” she murmurs.“My parents?—”
“I know,” I cut in gently.“They would’ve judged you and punished my aunt.They would’ve judged all of us.But you could have told me when I was older.When I could handle it.”
She shakes her head, eyes glistening.“No.Because Mario didn’t want her involved with you at all.”
My chest lifts in confusion.“What?Why?”
“The man was possessive,” she says, voice trembling with something old and raw.“I would even say abusive, but Lina never agreed with that word.They dated in college ...he asked her to marry him.She refused, and they broke up.”
“Why go back to him?”My voice cracks despite my best effort to stay calm.I hate how much I never knew.
Mom meets my gaze, and tears spill over her lashes.“Because you were sick,” she whispers.“We needed help for your treatments.For your medication.For the specialist who believed he could save you.Your father had left us.I was working as a receptionist, barely making rent.Lina wanted to help, and Mario had money.He offered to pay for everything.And she ...she agreed to marry him if that meant it’d save you.”
My breath stumbles out of me, almost a sob.“When Mario died?”
“Mila had just been born,” she answers, wiping beneath her eyes.“We didn’t want to overwhelm you.And then Sam died and ...”Her voice breaks.She presses her fingers to her lips.
“And here we are,” I whisper, my own tears falling before I can stop them.
Mom nods.“Exactly.”
Silence stretches between us.
I lower myself into the chair beside her.She watches me as though she’s waiting for me to push her away again.That realization knocks something loose inside me.
“You carried all of this alone,” I say softly.“You tried to protect me and you hurt me at the same time.”My tears blur her face, turning her into something softer, younger, almost frightened.“I’m angry.But I’m also—” My voice collapses.“I’m also terrified.Because everything I believed about myself ...about my life ...shifted overnight.”
Mom reaches out slowly, as if afraid I’ll recoil.“Mara,” she whispers, voice splintering, “I have made mistakes.Big ones.But every single thing I did ...I did because I loved you.Because you were my baby and I couldn’t lose you.”
That undoes me.I cover my face with my hands as the tears come harder.She moves closer, placing a hand on my back.She doesn’t say anything else—just sits with me, trembling with her own grief.
“She loved you so much,” she says.“We kind of shared you, but she couldn’t say anything.”
“I hate this,” I breathe out.“I hate the lies.I hate the confusion.I hate that I feel lost in my own life.”
