“Melanie,” she says, but I’m already gone. I’m moving fast, trying to outrun the tears that are about to betray me. The front door is in reach, and I’m not looking back.
“She’s my daughter,” my mom bites out.
“Then act like a mother,” Nick fires, and it’s so sudden, so raw, that it shatters something in me.
That’s it. That’s the moment. Tears burn the corners of my eyes, hot and insistent. But for once, someone chose me. Someone fought for me. It just wasn’t her.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she hisses.
The door flings open behind me, her footsteps pounding down the porch like a storm closing in. I swipe my tears hard, like I can erase the evidence of what I am.
“Sweetie, I need you to tell me he never touched you. Tell me the truth.” Her hand snatches for my arm—I rip it away like it’s burning me.
I shut my eyes and inhale sharply. My body is shaking.
“I know you can be dramatic and always wanted me to leave Richard so I could work it out with your real dad, but this is a bit much, Melanie.”
I let out this ugly, raw sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. My hands fly up in disbelief, my breath hitching. Nick steps out behind me, and when I look at him, his green eyes brimming with urgency, it fills me with something I didn’t know I had left: strength.
“Tell me he never did anything, and stop with this big act you are putting on, Melanie.”
I step toward her.
“He’s never touched me, Mom, happy.”
Nick’s head drops. Shoulders sag. I can feel the disappointment roll off him like smoke.
My mom smiles. Pleased. Triumphant.
“Now was that so hard?”
But I’m not done. I move closer, slow, deliberate.
“He’s never put a hand on my thigh when you weren’t looking. He’s never whispered in my ear things he didn’t want you to hear. He’s never put his mouth on my body.”
Her hands fall limp. Her face goes pale.
“He never took me on car rides just so we could be alone, and he never came into my room at night when you passed out drunk.”
Her hand shakes as she brings it to her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself together. But she can’t. Not this time. And I’m not drunk, not numb, not pretending anymore.
“He never touched me, Mom.”
I watch the words detonate behind her eyes. Like bullets—one after the other.
“Never, Mom.”And then I walk. Right past her. Back up the porch. Back to what’s left of my life. Nick nods, slow and sure. That’s all I needed—one person who sees me.
Then I hear it.
Crunch. Gravel shifts under the collapsing weight.
I spin just in time to see my mom fall.
“Mom!” I yell, and Nick’s already running.
35
NICK
