“She. Needs. New. Clothes.” Now her voice held anger—if someone as kind as her could even be angry. “She’s your daughter, Russell. When I’m gone, she’ll only have you. It’s not about money. Go shopping with her. Spend time together. Figure out what she likes.”
He groaned. “I’m too busy to waste time at the mall. That’s not my job.”
Mom sniffled. I curled my fingers into fists, biting my tongue until the taste of copper filled my mouth. How could he upset her like this? Didn’t he see she’d be gone soon?
“You’re right,” Mom said. “That’s not your job. But she’s your child.”
I bolted to my room and slid under the comforter, blocking everything but my sobs.
I rubbed my eyes. No more.
I was sick of crying. Sick of feeling like my dad regretted having a daughter. Sick of thinking he didn’t love me. Sick of believing I had to prove I was worthy of love and affection.
I couldn’t keep feeling this way—much less living this way.
Alba’s light footsteps echoed across the pool deck. “Dad says congratulations. This is from me as usual.”
She lowered into the chair beside mine and set a package in my lap.
Same pink paper. Same smell of ink I loved.
“Thank you. You really don’t have to.” My voice wobbled. “I have so many now I’ll need an extra suitcase to bring them home, and I will bring them all.”
“It’s a good thing you and I will have a huge bookcase.” She wiggled her brows. “And a reading nook. And a perfect view out the window. Dad gave me an apartment as a college acceptance gift, and you and I are going to live together.”
I tightened my fingers around the package. “Alba. . .”
“No.” She lifted a hand. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want to live alone. Unless the twin thing freaked you out and you hate the idea, we’re moving in together once we’re back.”
“Of course I don’t hate the idea.” I forced a smile. “I love it.”
She leaned back on her elbows. “Then it’s settled. What did your father do this time? You’ve been crying.”
“The usual.”
She frowned. “No sessions with Marta will be enough at the rate he’s destroying you emotionally.”
“I know. But he won’t. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “I’m going to take out student loans and pay for my studies myself.”
Alba stared. “He refused to pay?”
I shook my head. “Oh, he’s willing—with strings. But I don’t want his strings. Millions of people take out loans. So will I. I’ll work, I’ll pay them off, and it’ll be mine. My life. My choice. I won’t let him dangle money over me like a leash. I can’t live like that. And I won’t.”
She let out a long breath. “I hate that you’re forced to make this decision.”
I inhaled the warm evening air, steadying myself. “I hate the strings more. This way, at least, I’ll know I earned it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Asher
November
“Congratulations!” Ale and Dawson clinked their champagne glasses against mine. Late-afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spotlighting the boxes scattered across the polished wood floor.
