Page 158 of The Ache That Stayed

A sob tore out of my mother. And suddenly I realised she wasn’t crying because I’d told her. She was crying because I’d carried it alone.

She walked around and sat beside me on the bench, gently stroking my hand.

“Oh, Rox. I… I didn’t know,” she sobbed. “I should’ve known…”

Her voice cracked, and the sound of it broke me. The tears wouldn’t stop. Years of silence poured out of me, and I couldn’t hold any of it back.

“He said if I told anyone…” my voice dropped, barely there, “he would hurt you.”

My voice cracked.

“And I believed him. So I kept quiet.

Because losing me felt easier than losing you.”

That did it. She broke. A sharp inhale, her hand flying to her mouth as the reality of it hit her all at once.

“Oh God…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling me into her suddenly, her arms wrapping around me tight, desperate.

“I’m so sorry—I should’ve seen—I should’ve—”

Her words dissolved into sobs. And whatever wall I’d built cracked.

“I killed him,” I whispered into her shoulder.

The words sat between us. Heavy. Irreversible. There was no taking them back. My fingers clenched into her clothes.

“I stabbed him.” My voice broke completely. “There was so much blood and I—”

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t recoil. Her arms only tightened around me. Holding me like she was trying to gather every broken piece at once.

“What happened?” she asked, through tears.

And this time, I told her. Not everything. Not all of it. But enough. The way he cornered me, the blackmail, the warehouse, how he threatened Kyra, how I snapped.

The knife. The blood.

Everything—except him. Except Santino. Except the way he looked at me like I was the only thing left in the world.

When I finished—there was nothing left in me. Just emptiness. And the sound of both of us breathing through our tears.

After a long time, she pulled back just enough to look at me. Her hands cupped my face carefully, like I was still that child.

“Good riddance,” she said quietly.

That surprised me more than anything else. She didn’t ask if I regretted it. She never asked if I should have done it differently.

She just held me tighter.

“Does Marcello know?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I just… needed distance.”

She nodded. Didn’t question it. Didn’t push further.

But when she held me again—something inside me cracked all over again.