There’s a knock at the door.
I straighten. Before I can move to open it, I hear the familiar sound of keys jangling in the lock. My brows pull together. Brooke just left with Penny for the park, who the hell-
The keys jiggle again. Then there’s a harder, more impatient knock.
I swing the door open.
There she is. My ma. Standing in the hallway, holding up her old set of keys. “Why won’t my key work?”
I puff out my chest, steadying myself. “We changed the locks.”
Her face tightens, pissed, but I step aside before she can blow up out in the hallway where the neighbours might see.
Funny, this place was supposed to be a starter apartment. But it’s beginning to feel permanent. We’re close to the subway, the park, Zara’s house. The neighbours are families like us, some with older kids, some with younger, but all considerate, working their own 9-to-5 routines. We might move to a bigger unit someday, but this place… it’s home now.
I shake my head at the thought and nod a quick greeting at Mr. Fray as he walks up the stairs.
Inside, my ma is already squaring off with Dr. Bart, who’s risen from the sofa.
“Ma, this is Dr. Bart,” I say, stepping between them. “Dr. Bart, this is my mom.”
He doesn’t extend a hand, and I’m glad. Shelovesleaving people hanging. It’s like a sport for her.
She crosses her arms. “So, this is what it’s come to? Inviting strangers into my son’s house to talk about me?”
I let out a slow breath, glance briefly at Dr. Bart, then say exactly what we’d rehearsed. “Ma, I want to talk to you. I invited Dr. Bart so he can keep us on track.”
She laughs, a sharp, condescending sound. “Yes, Iknowwhat shrinks are for.”
I bite back the retort sitting on my tongue and gesture toward the chair. She doesn’t exactlygraceit with her presence; she drops down like this is a waste of her time.
I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, with Dr. Bart angled between us like some kind of human buffer.
She crosses her arms tighter, chin tilted up.
I study the woman who raised me, the woman I’ve loved my entire life. She looks almost exactly the same. A little older, sure, but still with that same proud, unyielding posture. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re here, needing a mediator to even talk, I’d almost believe nothing had changed.
Her gaze flicks around the apartment. I wait for the inevitable question about Brooke or Penny, but it never comes. Instead, her eyes snap back to me. “Talk.”
I take a breath, grounding myself the way Dr. Bart taught me. “What happened to my father?”
Her face hardens. “I told you. He left-”
I cut her off. “The truth.”
Something shifts in her expression. Not guilt, exactly. More like she’s trying to figure out how much I already know. “Who told you?” she finally asks.
I let out a sharp scoff. “Does it matter? You told me heleftwhen in reality… he’s dead.”
Her jaw clenches, her shoulders going stiff. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?” My voice cracks on the last word, not because I’m weak, but because ithurts. “The only thing I needed from you was for you to be my mother. But instead, you used ‘work’ as an excuse to get out of that when you and I both know you didn’t have to.”
She glares at me, chest rising and falling. “That’s not true,” she spits. “You have no idea what it was like. What Isacrificed.”
I keep my voice steady. “Then tell me. Tell me the truth.”
Her throat bobs, but she doesn’t say anything.
