Back then, Foxglove felt magical. Special. It felt like home.
Now, I’ve never felt so far away. As if we’re already in the car. As if it’s nothing but a memory.
“Are you ready?” Michael’s voice breaks through my thoughts. He holds out a hand and I take it. His palm is warm, strong. He makes me feel safe in a way I never have before.
I smile at him and wonder if he understands, if he’s ever felt this quiet longing for a place that is no longer yours. A place that never can be again.
He must understand, though. He’s left his home, too. We’re going to be married. To live in the city. Away from here. Away from everything we’ve ever known.
I take a step toward him and feel something inside me, like a tug of a string being pulled in my chest. It’s always been there. The familiar weight of Foxglove’s walls. Of my mother’s expectations. They both want me to stay, but I can’t. This place is no longer meant for me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear it, the steady, deliberate shuffle of footsteps behind me.
Mom.
I feel her before I see her, standing there at the end of the hall. Her face is unreadable—too calm almost, when I know she’s anything but. There’s a storm gathering behind her eyes. Her hands are clasped together, and I know Michael doesn’t see the slight tremor she’s trying to hide, like she’s holding onto something too tightly.
Maybe that something is me.
“Don’t do this, Billie.” Her voice is raspy from both sleep and age, but every bit as cutting. It can still make me as nervous as it did when I was a child.
“You’ve left me no choice.”
“No choice.” She laughs under her breath. “You don’t know a thing about having no choices, girl. I promise you that.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” I release Michael’s hand, standing between them. “That you had no choice?” I can’t say the rest, can’t bring up my father and what she did to him. Can’t bring up the fact that she’s lied to me all my life about what happened, how he died.
“I told you the truth because you needed to hear it.” Her voice slows down, begging me for something I don’t understand. “Because you need to understand that even the most powerful love can change. Even the person you think you know best…can become a stranger.”
I blink, unable to point out the irony of her words. “I love him. That’s all that matters.”
“I have no doubts. You don’t know him.”
“I don’t knowyou.”
She huffs, her shoulders rising with a deep, drawn-out breath. “Be mad at me if you want, but Foxglove is yours. You belong here. This house, her land—it’s in your blood. The Wilde name is yours, and it means something. It’s all we have. All we’ve ever had.”
I swallow hard. “It’s just a house, Mom. Just a name.” The next words come easier than I expected them to. “And neither are mine anymore.”
“What did you say?” She looks at me as if I’ve slapped her.
“I will be taking Michael’s last name. I have to build something of my own.”
“Of his.” She spits the words as if they were venom.
I press my lips together, pushing a breath through my nose as I do my best to stay measured, calm. “I can’t be bound by the past anymore. Even if you refuse to leave it.”
Her eyes narrow, something flickering in their depths. Anger. Hurt. “The Wilde name is something more than just words on a page, and you know it. Don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away because you’re upset with me.”
I stand straighter, feeling the heat of her disapproval but unable to resist what comes next, fueled by my anger. “The Wilde name will end with you.”
She takes in the words like a blow she hadn’t braced for, flinching with a sharp intake of breath. Then her lips wrinkle with indignation.
“No.” The single word is uttered with finality, firm and absolute. A command. “Change your name if you want, but you cannot change your blood. You are Wilde. You have always been Wilde.”
Behind me, I hear Michael shift. I suspect he’s wondering whether to intervene, to speak on my behalf.
My pulse races as I meet Mom’s gaze. She’s getting older; her eyes are tired. But she still has fire left in her, plenty for this fight in particular.
