God, Ireallyshould’ve walked.
***
The car hasn’t even come to a full stop before I shove the door open. My feet hit the pavement hard, and I’m sprinting before Will’s engine has finished rumbling down.
The keys slip in my hand twice before I get the lock to turn, and the moment the door gives, I’m inside, flying up the stairs two at a time.
I push the door open—and stop.
The room is a wreck. Clothes scattered like they were ripped from drawers, bottles tipped and leaking dark stains across the carpet. The curtains hang half torn from their rail, letting in too much light.
And on the floor—
Mum.
Her body is twisted, limp, hair matted against her cheek. Skin grey. Sam is crouched beside her, hands hovering uselessly above her shoulders. Her face is blotched red, eyes swollen.
She looks up at me, and in that one look, I know.
She shakes her head once.
Dead.
Behind her, Naomi is pressed into the corner, one hand locked over her mouth, her shoulders trembling, her eyes wide with something between disbelief and terror.
The stench of alcohol is everywhere, thick enough to choke on. I can’t move. My hand is still on the doorframe, nails digging in.
My body moves before my brain does. One second I’m frozen in the doorway, the next I’m stumbling across the room, knees hitting the carpet, reaching for her—anything, everything.
“Mum,” I choke out, hands pressing against her shoulder, her arm. “Mum, please—”
But then—hands. Strong hands. They catch me around the waist, hauling me back.
Will.
“No!” My voice cracks, breaking like glass. I thrash against the hold, clawing at the air, fighting to get to her. “Let me go! I can help her—I can—”
“Shhh.” The voice is low, steady, close to my ear. I can feel the words against my skin. “There’s nothing you can do for her now.”
It’s only then I realize my cheeks are wet. I don’t remember when the tears started, only that they’re there, blurring everything until the room dissolves.
I might have fallen, had Will not been holding me. I would have collapsed onto the filthy carpet at my mother’s side.
Instead, I sag against him, shaking, and the fight drains out of me in ragged bursts. I cry silently in his hold. Every now and then, Will shifts one hand, a rough thumb brushing clumsily at the tears streaking my face. It doesn’t help—more keep coming—but he does it anyway.
So I cry. I cry until my ribs ache, until my face feels raw, until I don’t know if there’s anything left inside me at all.
I cry for her. For the mother I wanted, for the mother I had, for the mother who died long before today.
And then—eventually—the tears slow. The sobs thin out into hiccups, then into shallow breaths.
So, Mother. You’ve finally gotten what you wanted.
You’re finally free.
***
I don’t know how long I’ve been outside. Just walking. One foot in front of the other, no direction, no thought, just movement. I don’t even notice how far I’d gone until I turn and realize I can’t see the house anymore. Can’t see any of it.
