"This is my mother's grave." They jabbed a finger toward my lilies. "What are you doing here? With those?"
"I owe you an explanation,” I started to say.
"You owe me nothing." Three quick strides and they were in my space. Expensive cologne and leather filled my nostrils. "Except maybe your life in exchange for hers. What sick game is this? You drove her to kill herself, then tend her grave like some fucking mourner?"
He was inches away now, close enough to see the intensity in his green eyes. The same shade as Algerone's. Their jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically.
My muscles tensed, palms tingling. I uncurled my fingers and kept them open at my sides.
"You think because he's fucking you that you have the RIGHT to be here?" Spittle hit my cheek. "You don't. She should still be alive. Dad’s lucky card didn't save our mother, did it?"
"No." My voice came out flat. "It didn't."
Xander's eyes widened at the admission. Then narrowed with fresh fury. "How long have you been coming here?"
"Twenty-three years. Every month since she died."
They staggered back as if struck. "Every month? While we grew up without her? You killed her, and then you what? Appointed yourself her fucking grave keeper?"
"You're right," I said. "It should have been me."
Xander's fist connected with my jaw with a sharp crack that echoed among the headstones. My head rocked back. I made no move to defend myself.
I stood motionless as they struck again, this time to my sternum. The breath left my lungs. Pain bloomed across my chest.
"Why won't you fight back?" Tears streamed down their face, smearing their eyeliner. Their fists connected with my chest, my shoulders, my face. "Fight back!"
Blood welled from my split lip. They struck my ribs again. Copper and salt filled my mouth.
"I won't fight you, Xander." I managed between strikes. "You've earned this."
When their strength finally waned, their breathing turned ragged, I remained standing. Blood trickled from my nose and mouth. My ribs screamed with each breath. I made no move to retaliate.
Xander stumbled back. Their own knuckles were split and bleeding. His shoulders heaved. "Why won't you defend yourself?"
"Because you deserve your rage, and I deserve your punishment."
Their legs gave out. They sank to the ground in front of their mother's grave. "Do you know what it's like to grow up knowing your mother chose death over raising you? To wonder every single day what was so wrong with you that she couldn't stay?"
"Nothing was wrong with you. She loved you. All three of you."
"Then why?" they demanded. "Why wasn't that enough?"
"Because I broke something in her that night. Something that couldn't be fixed. I told her Algerone would never want her. Never acknowledge the children. Never be part of her life." I paused. "I made her believe she was alone."
"I hate you," he whispered. "I've hated you my entire life without even knowing who you were."
The cemetery blurred at the edges of my vision. I curled my fingers into fists. Sharp pain bloomed in my palms where my nails bit into flesh.
They hated me. And they were right to.
"I don't have a single memory of her." Xander's voice went small. Lost. "Not her face. Not her voice. Nothing."
I bent down and carefully gathered one of the scattered wildflowers from their fallen bouquet. A purple aster, the bloom intact despite everything. I placed it in the vase alongside my lilies.
"They met at a gallery opening in Chicago." My voice shifted into the cadence I used for briefings. "Algerone was there for a potential client. Your mother was photographing the event." I paused. "He always said he noticed her because she was the only person in the room not trying to impress anyone."
Xander looked up.
