Her tear-filled eyes search mine, confused. “What?”
My fingers, numb with fear, slip under the fabric of my dress, slip between my thighs and I pull out the tiny glass vial I hid in the only place I had available.
For a moment, there is only confusion. Then recognition dawns and her gaze flies back to mine, wide with shock and a dawning, terrible hope.
“It’s the only mercy I can give you,” I say, the words tearing from my throat. “The only freedom I can offer.”
She looks from the vial to my face, her expression shifting from shock to a heartbreaking tenderness. “Oh, my brave, brave girl,” she breathes. Then her face hardens with a mother’s final, fierce command. “You drink it.”
I stagger back a step, shaking my head violently. “No. Never.”
“Grace, listen to me…”
“No,” I hiss, the word sharp and final. “You don’t understand. However much he has hurt me, you have had it worse. This is your way out, this is the only way I can get you out. Once I know you are free of this place, then I can plan my own exit. I can ensure all of us, you, me, and papa can see each other again.”
I see the truth of my words land. I see the memory of these years of Oblivion flash in her eyes; the horror, the terror, the degradation.
“Please.” I whisper, feeling like we’re running out of time, that any minute Antonio is going to barge back in and we’ll be found out.
A profound stillness settles over her. The fear vanishes from her face, replaced by a serene, devastating acceptance. She looks at me one last time, pouring a lifetime of love into a single glance. A mother’s blessing. A mother’s goodbye.
“I love you, Grace. I love you so much. Be strong. Be strong and survive.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She brings the vial to her lips, tips her head back, and crunches the thing between her back teeth.
For a second, nothing happens. She stands there looking at me with a faint, sad smile on her lips. Then her eyes widen. A sharp, choked gasp escapes her, and her hands fly to her throat. A white froth bubbles from her mouth, spilling over her lips and down her chin.
Her legs give way. She collapses falling against a small wooden stool by the bed, and the impact splinters it into pieces. Her body convulses once, twice, before going so fucking still.
The froth at her mouth is the only movement now as she lies on the cold stone floor, with her eyes open, staring at nothing.
“Goodbye, Momma.” I whisper. “Goodbye. Say hello to dad when you see him and tell him that I love you, that I love him. That I love you both…” My whisper turns into hysterical sobbing as the last of my composure leaves me.
I am truly alone now. There is no one in this world who cares for me. Who sees me as a person. A human being, and not a thing to use.
I collapse onto her. I lie on top of her broken, frail body and I wail, no longer caring about anything. Antonio will punish me for this. He will hurt me, but in my pain and despair I can find solace in the fact that she escaped. She beat them. In the end, my mother is with my father, and they are in heaven and none of this matters anymore.
The door opens silently as I brace myself for whatever comes next, for the punishment that I know I will have to endure. Antonio stands in the doorway, his eyes taking in the scene in a single, lightning-fast assessment; the shattered stool, my mother’s lifeless body on the floor, the foam of poison on her still lips.
His face, usually a mask of controlled arrogance, twists into something purely and utterly demonic. The understanding is instant.
He knows. He knows it was me.
His eyes lock onto me and he lunges.
Each second is a grain of sand dropping through an hourglass, each one a tiny erosion of my certainty.
This was a mistake. A colossal, potentially catastrophic fucking mistake.
I brought her here to mend what I broke, to show her I am not a monster. To offer a sliver of her shattered world back to her, a token to earn a sliver of trust. The logic was flawless: reunite Grace with her wretched mother, witness the catharsis, then step in as the benefactor. I would have Elaine moved from this place, I would arrange with Magnus to see her sentence commuted. She would become my bargaining chip, my leverage.
See, my darling? I can be merciful, I can give you this. All I ask in return is you. Be mine again.
The plan is ash on my tongue now. The only thing I can hear from behind that door is a low, murmuring hum of voices, too faint to decipher. No weeping. No cries of joy or anguish. Just a terrible, waiting silence. It feels less like a reunion, and more like a vigil.
My jaw aches from clenching. I should never have let sentiment override strategy. I should have kept this card hidden, played it only after the fact. But I was impatient. I miss the scent of her hair, the feel of her skin, the way she looked at me before I fucked it all up.
The silence stretches, gnawing at me. I push off the wall, my boots soundless on the stone floor. Conrad will be down here soon, making his rounds, smelling of cheap whiskey and cheaper power. I’ll speak with him, arrange for the woman’s transfer. Use it as the first thread to stitch Grace back to my side.
