Page 80 of Bitter Lies

A ghost of a memory from when I was three. Soft. Gentle. Warm. Familiar, like the lingering scent of her perfume.

“Mum,” I call out. “Mum, what are you doing here?”

“Get up, Isabel. I need you to get up.”

Her hand reaches for me, but when I try to take it, mine slips right through.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could go back and do it all differently. This isn’t your fault. You’re an innocent victim caught in the mess we created. Please… forgive me.”

“Mum.” I heave myself up, my legs unsteady as dizziness washes over me in waves. “Mum… what isn’t my fault?”

“I thought I could trust him. He lied. Said he cared for me.” Her long sleeve brushes against her cheek as she wipes away the tears streaming down her face.

“Who?” I choke out, hot tears of my own burning a trail down mine.

“Oh, Isabel.” Her voice softens. “I wish I could tell you, but it’s best if you figure that out for yourself.”

She folds her hands and hums a familiar tune before continuing. “He used me and I let him. I thought he loved me.” A shaky breath. “But men like him… they’re incapable of love. Remember that, my sweet girl. Don’t let him convince you otherwise when he shows up.”

“Who?” I don’t understand. “Tell me so I know and can steer clear?”

“It’s not that easy.” Startled, she glances back, a frown now etched on her face. “King Ramon, your father, was a good man. Don’t believe what they’ve told you. He took us in when no one else would.”

A pause, heavier this time. “What happened after… that was on me. I went behind his back, and he had every right to be angry.”

Her gaze returns to mine; there’s a softness there. “You meant everything to him. He loved you—even when he didn’t have to.”

A sob claws its way up, only to catch and choke me on the way out. “Mum, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“He’s coming.” Her body begins to ascend and drift through the air. “He’ll be here soon, and then there will be no more lies.”

I repeat my earlier question. “Who?”

“The painting. The truth hides in the painting. Find it, Isabel. Find the truth.” She turns, her figure fading as the smoke swallows her whole.

Running after her, I trip over something and face-plant. “Mum, wait! What painting?”

“Find it, Isabel.” Her voice trails off, fading into the distance like a whisper in the wind. “Find the truth. You’re the only one who can.”

Scrambling to my feet, I take off after her, but something grabs my ankle, stopping me. When I look down, I notice it’s my grandmother. She’s lying on the ground. Blood covers the hand seizing me. Her eyes stare up at me, a hollow haze behind them, begging me to help her.

I steal one last glance at the spot where my mother disappeared. The silence presses down on me, then I turn to my grandmother and sink down to sit next to her on the cool tile.

“I’m here, Grams. We need to get you out of here.”

Her fingers uncurl from my ankle, and her body goes limp.

My fingers dig into her shoulders, a desperate, silent plea, as my hands tremble. “Grams, wake up. You can’t leave me too. Grams, please.”

She won’t stir, no matter how hard I shake her.

Overwhelmed, I collapse onto her chest, the tears burn as they stream down my face and land on the soft cotton of her nightgown. “Please, Grams. You can’t leave me too.”

The smoke grows thicker again, closing in, and I give in to the weight of my grief. The will to fight drains away, leaving me too tired to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

So, I let go.

A broken sound escapes me as the room fades into darkness, taking us with it.