Page 74 of Through the Storm

We don’t even sit down.

“How can I help you?” my mother asks with polite detachment.

“I’m having a baby shower.” I pull the envelope from my bag. “Grandma Patty is hosting. I wanted to invite you. Both you and Dad.”

I hold it out. My mother doesn’t take it right away. Her gaze drifts briefly, pointedly, to Ella.

“Yes, we’ve heard,” she says. “About the shower.”

Of course they have.

“I thought it would be better to invite you properly.” I meet her gaze. “In person.”

She accepts the envelope at last but doesn’t open it. Doesn’t look at it.

“I see,” she says.

There’s a pause. Long enough to feel deliberate.

“Katy,” she continues, voice measured, “we’re concerned aboutthe decisions you’ve made. They make more sense now that I see what company you’ve been keeping.”

I feel Ella still beside me.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been… influenced by complicated situations,” my mother adds. Her eyes flick to Ella again, assessing and hard.

The sadness evaporates, replaced by a hot pulse of anger.

“Ella is not the reason I’m in this situation.” My voice stays steady, even though I’m fuming. “I am.”

I cannot believe her. She knows exactly what Ella went through. She knows she lost a baby.Her grandchild. Ella almost died in the process. And instead of kindness, my mother is measuring her. Like she always has. Looking at her like she’s beneath her. It makes my blood boil.

“Regardless of who is to blame for these circumstances, we don’t think it would be appropriate for us to attend. We simply cannot condone your behavior,” she says finally.

The words land hard.

I nod once. I don’t argue. I don’t ask why.

“I just wanted you to have the option.” I look down. “That’s all.”

She inclines her head, satisfied. “We appreciate that.”

I turn toward the door.

“Katy,” she says, stopping me. “We do hope you understand. We’re simply doing what we think is right.”

I don’t look back.

“I know,” I say.

And for the first time, I really do. This is who they are. I’ve never seen her more clearly than now.

Outside, the air feels sharper. Ella doesn’t speak until we’re halfway down the path.

She stops, then pulls me into her arms without a word. Holds me tight without an ounce of pity. Just presence and support.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers. “For giving them the chance, evenif they chose not to take it.”

They aren’t confused.