She let out a soft chuckle, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No. I needed a disguise.”
A sharp pang of unease curled in my stomach. “A disguise? Why?” My mind raced. “Mom… are you in danger? Did Richard?—”
She pulled off her sunglasses.
I sucked in a breath. A faint bruise shadowed her cheekbone.
Oh my God.
She saw my expression and forced a brittle smile. “Guess I knew it was coming sooner or later. He was always controlling.”
I didn’t think. I just pulled out the chair and sat across from her. “What happened?”
She looked around the busy restaurant. “That’s what I’m here to tell you. But I don’t want to interrupt you while you’re working. I can come back.”
“No.” I reached for her hand. It was cold, trembling. “I’ll get you something to eat. If you don’t mind waiting until the rush dies down, we can talk.” I hesitated. “It might be a couple of hours. You’ll have to wait outside or in your car—we have a waitlist, so I can’t let you sit here.”
She nodded, staring at her hands like she wasn’t seeing them.
I wanted to be angry. I tried to hold on to the resentment, to the years she spent believing Richard over me. But looking at her now, fragile yet trying so damn hard to hold herself together, I knew I couldn’t.
“I don’t mind waiting,” she whispered.
I stood. “I’ll bring out some bread with a chicken Caesar salad, okay?”
She nodded. I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.
“Actually… I wouldn’t mind trying your pasta.” Her lips pressed together like she was steeling herself. “I was too drunk to eat it last time, so…”
I froze. The words hung between us, heavy, fragile.
She fumbled with her purse. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t expect?—”
“Don’t worry about it.” My throat tightened. “I’ll have Mario whip up something for you.”
She gave me a small nod, and I walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
It was almostnine when I finally had a chance to talk to my mom. A part of me hoped she had gotten cold feet, called an Uber, and left. I wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever she had to say. If this was some desperate attempt to convince me to come home, she was wasting her time. No matter how much I missed her, I would never go back. The night air was sharp, cutting through my clothes as I stepped outside and slipped on my jacket. My mom sat at one of the white patio tables, staring into the distance, lost in thought. The dim lighting cast shadows on her face, making it hard to tell if her eyes were puffy from crying or sheer exhaustion.
I swallowed hard and took a seat beside her. “Hey.” I forced a small smile. “Thanks for waiting.”
She glanced at me, offering a weak smile before turning her gaze back to the parking lot.
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncertain.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “So… what did you want to talk about?”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I signed the divorce papers.”
The words slammed into me. My stomach dropped.
“You… what?” My mind scrambled to catch up. “But I?—”
She shook her head, cutting me off. “The night we got back, I just knew. Something felt different. For the first time, I could see that house clearly for what it was. It felt wrong—eerie, empty. Without you there, it was like I was standing in astranger’s mansion.” She exhaled shakily. “So I started digging. I tracked down the women—every single one who accused Richard.”
A chill ran through me. “You did?”
She nodded. “All six of them. And they all had the same story.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “They went to audition for a role in one of Richard’s films. And afterward… nothing. They blacked out. Woke up in a taxi with no memory of what happened. Three girls said when they woke their buttonholes ached and the other three girls said they were sore down there and found bruises all over their bodies.”
