Page 29 of Unbound

I wonder how the same thing didn’t happen to the woman now skipping her way upstairs. If everything she says is true, Sybil went through something remarkably similar. And yet she’s full of life. Still possesses positivity and hope and humor.

I should be jealous. Envious this woman has been able to move forward in ways I haven’t. But considering she’s currently hiding out under my roof because of how she’s moved forward, I’m not sure her ways of coping are any healthier than mine.

I spend a few minutes cleaning up the kitchen. Putting everything back in its place. Making my life as right as it can be. Then I go to my office, sit in the chair behind my desk.

And wait.

It takes nearly an hour before I hear muffled footsteps coming toward me. I’m a little impressed. I didn’t think Sybil had this much patience. Hopefully it’s a good sign. An indication she won’t be quite as difficult as I’m anticipating.

Why does that disappoint me?

I don’t have time to pick through my conflicting emotions before she’s peering around the door frame, letting out a squeak of surprise when she sees me staring back at her.

To her credit, she doesn’t run away. Sybil steps fully into view, toying with the hem of her shirt as she casually says, “I couldn’t fall asleep, so I was coming to find you.”

“Are you sure?” I cross both arms over my chest, stretching my legs under the desk as I lean back in the seat. “Because you seemed pretty surprised to see me.”

“Of course I was surprised. You’re sitting in a room with no lights on, not making a sound.” She reaches up to tug at the wad of hair on her head, tightening the band restraining her long blonde locks. “I wasn’t expecting to see you sitting there.”

I angle a brow at her as she takes a tentative step into the room. “If you weren’t expecting me, then why were you sneaking?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.” She wanders along the perimeter, looking over the items I’ve placed around the space. “I was being cautious.”

“Cautious, because you didn’t want me to catch you coming back to investigate my office again.” I don’t post it as a question. It’s not one. Sybil is determined, and that makes her behaviors pretty fucking easy to anticipate.

“If you know so much about what I was going to do, why didn’t you just tell me to stay out of here?” She pauses at a photograph I only managed to put out recently. “Is this your mom?”

Sybil seems to have forgotten the question she asked before this one, which is convenient since I wasn’t going to answer it. I’m not thrilled about discussing my mother, but it somehow seems easier than explaining why I never forbade Sybil from digging into my personal space.

“It is.” I watch as she carefully picks up the frame, holding it with both hands as she brings it closer. Sybil treats the image the way only someone who understands exactly how precious it is would.

And maybe it’s that shared understanding that brings me out of my chair and to her side.

“This picture is from my twelfth birthday party.” I pull in a deep breath before letting my eyes fall to our smiling faces. “Most people know my Aunt Deidre is a great event planner, but I think my mother was just as good.” It’s not easy to see what’s in the background, but I remember the decorations themed around my favorite video game. The cake she spent hours crafting. The food she chose because it was my favorite thing to eat at the time. “All my friends liked my birthday parties better than theirs.”

Sybil is no longer looking at the picture. Somewhere along the line, her eyes moved to my face. She studies me for a few seconds before returning her attention to the framed image. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Countless people have said that to me over the past twenty-six years. Expressed in one way or another their own sadness about what was taken from me. Deep down, it’s always pissed me off, because they couldn’t begin to understand what it feels like to be sad over my mother’s death.

But Sybil can.

I don’t quite know what to do with that. How to navigate our tragic connection, so I say the only thing I can. “So am I.”

Sybil gently traces my mother’s face with the tip of one finger, a soft smile curving her lips. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“I’ve always thought so. I remember fully believing my mom was the prettiest mom in the world.” I worshiped her as a kid. Without my dad in the picture, she was quite literally my everything. I had friends and my cousins, of course, but the connection I had with my mom was different from what the other kids my age had with theirs.

“I’m going to go ahead and agree with you.” Sybil gently replaces the photograph, carefully aligning it exactly as it was. “You look a lot like her.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m the prettiest girl in the world?” I don’t usually joke, and I don’t know why I am now. Especially during a conversation that would normally have me doing everything possible to escape the room.

Sybil beams up at me, her smile bright. “You’re at least in the top ten.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll let you go through my office.”

I know she wants to know more about what happened to my mother. Confirm if the events surrounding her death offer any connection to the loss of her father. And I’m becoming more and more inclined to give her what she wants. For selfish reasons, sure. But also because anyone willing to work this hard deserves to find what they’re searching for.

The smile on Sybil’s face slips a little. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m not trying to invade your privacy.”