“And who,” she asks sharply, “is that?”
Before I can answer—Dan stands.
The chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and my skin crawls at the sound.
He straightens his shirt over his shorter, thin body, and I wonder why I never noticed that before—how small he is. How weak.
He stands like he owns the place.
Like he belongs here.
And he looks indignant.
Irate, even
Then that fucking smirk settles back onto the face I used to think was handsome.
God, I forgot how much I hate that smirk.
“Willow,” my mother says briskly, rising halfway out of her chair, “Dan is here to give you a second chance. Now, I suggest you tell that cab driver to leave so we can talk like adults.”
Something in me snaps.
I stare at her—really stare—for one split second.
Then I answer.
“He isn’t a cab driver,” I say, my voice shaking now but gaining strength with every word. “And I don’t want a second with that jerk. How could you?”
She scoffs, like I’m the unreasonable one.
“How could I?” she snaps. “You ungrateful little brat. I’ve put up with you for years. Your father sure left in a hurry?—”
“He didn’t leave, Mom,” I shout, the words ripping out of me. “He died!”
Her face hardens.
“And he leftyoueverything,” she shoots back. “All I got was this house—and you to take care of.”
The words hit like slaps.
My chest burns.
“Now,” she continues, gesturing toward Dan like he’s some kind of prize, “Dan is willing to let bygones be bygones. Let’s talk this through. Then we can divide your inheritance. Consider it a dowry. He’ll marry you, Willow.”
The room spins.
“What?” I choke. “Are you crazy?”
Dan’s smirk widens.
“Did you ever even love me?” I ask my mother, my voice breaking despite everything I try to hold together.
She doesn’t hesitate.
“What are you talking about?” she says coldly. “I’m your mother. Mothers don’t have to love their children.”
The silence afterward is deafening.
