Page 14 of Break Me Not

“But you were so happy. You got to work in a creative job and tech⁠—”

“You pushed me to pursue creative work,” she interrupted, looking down at the coffee in her hands. “But I felt bad telling you that I never went for it. This is better. I just wanted to show you it's better. I wanted you to know that it’s stable and pays well, and even if it isn't creative, I'm happy.”

The longer I looked at her, the more I could see the weight on her shoulders.

“I'm not mad at you for lying,” I said quickly and grabbed her hand again, trying to look directly into her eyes so she knew I was telling the truth. “I'm sorry you didn't feel comfortable telling me this. And I never wanted to put pressure on you, but… are you sure you're happy with this?”

“You still don’t get it.” She sighed and looked back to the door of my office as if she were considering leaving. Then she went for the kill. “I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t want to struggle for a paycheck just for my own happiness.”

I jerked back like I’d been punched. It surely feels like it.

My ex-husband stopped working after a while. He blamed it on the companies and managers treating him unfairly, but I knew he was an awful employee. And as Claire got older, I used her time at school to go back to college and find a job that I loved, but that also meant I struggled, especially because her father wasn't giving us any money.

“Claire…”

There were so many things I wanted to say.

My life was never about choosing my own happiness.

I never chose to struggle.

I did everything in my power to make it work while ensuring you never felt just how hard it actually was.

But none of them left my lips. If she truly felt that I had been that selfish, it was likely more a reflection of my actions—or lack thereof. There had to be some truth to it.

And I was shocked she felt like she had to keep this from me.

My fault. This has to be my fault.

I forced a smile on my face.

“No matter, this is still cause for a celebration.”

I started taking out the food, specifically the cake, and pushed it to her.

“Who eats dessert first?” she asked with a huff. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

My poor, sensitive baby. I could feel how much those words hurt her. Maybe even more than they hurt me.

She never exploded on me like this. I could only remember a handful of times she truly got angry at me, and after every single one, she would feel so bad that she would come crying to me, wrapping her arms around me and asking for forgiveness.

But there was nothing to forgive. I would never hold a grudge against her. And no matter how harsh it sounded, her outburst was a reflection of my not being attentive enough or seeing the issue when I should have.

“We do,” I said with a small laugh and leaned forward to run my hand down her hair and cup her cheek.

She leaned into it.

“I’m proud of you, Claire Bear. You’ve done great for yourself.”

“Mom—”

“I’m not finished! Let me compliment my daughter. Graduating with honors. Working hard. Buying your own apartment⁠—”

“You helped with the down payment,” she said with a small sniffle.

My smile widened.

“Only some of it. And now you’re a product manager. Don’t think I don’t know how big a deal this is just because I’m in the arts business.”