“I can’t speak with you right now,” I say as soon as I see my mother standing in the entry hall.
“It’s important,” she replies, stepping in without being invited. “The last thing I wanted to do today was come here. But there’s something you need to see, and it can’t wait.”
“Mother, you picked a terrible time. Please—if you don’t want to fight—”
“You really don’t care about me anymore, do you?” she interrupts, her voice tearful. “Everything I do—everything I’veever done—was thinking about what’s best for you, Nero. And now I’m not even worthy of a minute of your time?”
I shake my head. Starting this conversation would be a mistake. This is not a good moment for me to engage in any kind of argument—especially this one.
My mother may be guilty of many things, but she has nothing to do with my current state. And I know myself well enough to know my temper shoots first and asks questions later when pushed to the limit.
“Please, Mother, I’m asking you to leave.” Each word leaves my mouth searching for a battlefield. My brain wants peace, but everything inside me vibrates with war.
A few moments of silence separate my words from the first sounds of sobbing that escape her lips.
“All this for what?” The disdain in her voice is palpable. I turn my back because I need water. A lot of water. My hands barely reach a glass and the pitcher before she strikes. “Because of that woman, isn’t it? You’re worried because she disappeared.” I spin around immediately.
“How do you know that?” I spit the words out, stumbling over them, and a scornful laugh leaves her lips.
“I’ll let you find out for yourself,” she says, lifting a brown envelope she’s holding in one hand. She throws it in my direction, and I think twice before giving her what she wants—to see me bend down to pick it up.
I cross my arms at my shoulders, resisting the temptation. Her gaze challenges me, and knowing that for her every gesture is a punishment, I refuse to yield. I stay still.
“If you came to play games—again—I suggest you leave,” I offer, exhausted.
“That woman doesn’t deserve you, Nero.” She takes a step forward. “Look at you. Look at what she’s doing to you.” Her hands lift toward my face, but I step back—not fast enough to miss the curtain of hatred that immediately covers her eyes.
She picks the envelope up from the floor and rips it open, spreading its contents across the makeshift desk.
“See for yourself,” she hisses.
“What is this?” I ask, staring at the first image—a random photo of Nina.
“You’d never believe me if I told you. These are the proofs that this woman is not who she claims to be,” she declares, laying them out.
I wrinkle my nose, worn down by all of this. Lysandra insists on this baseless fixation on Nina, and we haven’t even had the chance to tell her about the baby, about the wedding.
The reasons my mother believes make Nina unsuitable don’t matter to me—but I suppose it’s better to put an end to this persecution once and for all.
I lift the first page of what looks like a report about her past and roll my eyes, imagining the kind of nonsense my mother thinks I need to know.
But when I hold the papers in one hand and use the other to turn the page, I realize the bundle between my fingers is anything but irrelevant.
The photos attached to the report make my chest explode into violent beats, and all the air drains from my lungs. What the fuck is this?
“I wanted to spare you,” my mother says, but I can’t stop flipping through the pages, image after image, the dossier drowning me.
“What does this mean?” I ask through clenched teeth, barely able to breathe under the pressure crushing my insides, and I let the pages slip from my hands, scattering across the floor.
I turn to my mother. Her eyes don’t waver under my fury. They don’t look away from mine.
“I told you she wasn’t the woman for you, Nero.” An irritated laugh bursts from my throat at her evasive answer. “I’m sorry you have to suffer this disappointment—”
“Disappointment?” I cut in, bracing my hands on my hips only to drop my arms seconds later, suddenly not knowing what to do with them. I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation. I wish this were a fucking nightmare. I grit my teeth and turn my head, exhaling deeply before facing my mother again. “A storm wiping out a harvest is a disappointment. Seeing photos of my woman naked in the bedsof two other men—while she wears my engagement ring on her finger—is a bit more than that, damn it.”
“Manners, Nero! Just because you insist on associating with riffraff who use that kind of language doesn’t mean I have to tolerate it!”
“I’m sorry, Mother, if my last concern right now is your sensitive ears. I want answers!”
