She lowers her phone, fingers gripping it unsteadily. “As if you know what my son needs better than his own mother.”
Disdain seeps through my voice. “Amothershouldn’t need to be told to show hersonthat she loves him.”
Her lip trembles, and she bites down on it to conceal the unease. Just when I think her ice is finally about to thaw, she lifts her chin and looks away, nose in the air.
I roll my eyes.How very mature.Opening the door, my grip tightens around the suitcase handle, and I exit the bedroom I used to call mine.
“Eva, wait.” Bridget clears her throat as I look back at her. Her lips part, then close, and she fidgets with her pearls. “I’m not good with ... with ...”
“Affection? Emotion? Being human?”
Her gaze narrows. “I was going to say, beingsentimental.” She glances away. “I won’t know what to say to him.”
“So don’t say anything.” My heart burns. “Just be with him.”
Because I can’t be.
Because he needs you.
With a swallow, I keep my eyes forward as I pass Easton’s room, and the walls close in on me with each step. It’s hard to breathe. By the time I finish dragging my suitcase to the bottom of the stairs, I’m suffocating.
“Jovencita...” Maria appears beside me.¿A dónde vas?The alarm in her voice pricks me with guilt.
I tell myself she should be relieved I’m leaving. I’m one less person to take care of, and the messiest of them all. The pressure on my heart threatens to crush me. I don’t want to miss her. She’s not mine to miss. None of this is mine.
Keep moving.
I have to keep moving.
“Pequeña, no.” Her mop slips from her hands and lands with aclankon the floor.“Por favor, no.”
My cheeks are wet when I open the front door and yank the stupid suitcase over the threshold. A bald man in a black suit relieves me of my luggage and opens the back door of his Lincoln. I duck inside and slide across the leather seat. Tinted windows dim the sunlight, the ignition starts, and I allow myself one final glance back at the house.
Maria stands in the open doorway, tight lines near her eyes etched with worry.
The driver pulls away from the curb.
“Don’t worry, Maria,” I whisper, wiping my cheek. “There will be no more parties for me.”
It takes seconds for the home I played house in to fade from view. Funny how it takes so long to arrive where we are, but with only a blink, it can all disappear forever.
Exhaustion weighs on me as the distance stretches. This is good. This is where I’m meant to be—far, so far away. Free to run. Free to hide. Fading away, deep in the quiet shadows. My eyelids grow heavy, and I release an uneven breath. Sleep would be welcome right now. A moment of pitch-black. A flicker of reprieve.
But I’m restless. With each spin of the tires, my heart pulses with something heavy, something nagging. Like I’m going the wrong way. Like I’ve left something behind.
A tear slips down my cheek.
You don’t have a home, I remind myself.
You can’t grieve something you never had.
But maybe home is a person, and maybe heartbreak doesn’t have rules. My head is dreaming of whiskey, my heart is famished, and I’m going thewrong way.
The car stops, and my eyes snap toward the window. Trees and park benches surround me. I look out the other window to see suburban houses lining the street. The driver puts the car in park.
“Excuse me?” I call.
He ignores me, unbuckles his seat belt, picks up his phone, and sends a text.
