"Say it, Hattie baby," he murmurs.
I glance over at her to see her watching us, her expression wary. "I forgive you, Mom. I know you'll never apologize because you aren't capable of understanding what you've done or why it's so fucking awful, but I forgive you anyway," I say. "I'm not forgiving you for your sake, but for mine. I don't want to be like you, hanging onto things that don't serve me. You've clung to your anger at Dad for so long, you don't even know who you are without it anymore. That won't ever be me." I take a breath, my whole body shaking. "But we're done here. Until you get help for your issues, I don't want to see you, either. And if you came here to try to guilt me into changing my brothers' minds, you wasted your time. I've been asking them to let you back in for a lot longer than I should have, just because I thought that's what I was supposed to do as your daughter. Now, I think I just want to be my father's daughter. He knew when to walk away and protect the people who mattered."
For the first time, I see my mom crack slightly. She flinches, paling. Her bottom lip quivers. The tears aren't for show this time. I think they might actually be real. "You don't mean that," she says. "Henrietta, you're my daughter. You can't just abandon me."
"My name is Hattie," I say, "and I'm not abandoning you. I'm walking away from the person who never deserved me."
She chokes on a sob, wailing.
Sidney doesn't even flinch. Neither do I.
He dips his head, brushing his lips across mine in a soft kiss before he turns back to my mother, his expression black enough to scare the devil himself. "If you ever raise your hand to her again, the whole fucking world will know exactly what kind of monster you," he warns her. "You don't look at her. You don't speak to her. You don't come within fifty feet of her unlessshedecides you can. If you do, I'll ruin you with a fucking smile on my face."
"Please," she sobs.
"Goodbye, Mom," I whisper, allowing Sidney to guide me around her and then into the house.
As soon as the door shuts, muffling her cries, he scoops me up into his arms, holding me like he's never going to let me go.
"I've got you, butterfly," he croons, carrying me down the hall while I sob. I'm not sad, though. I'm not even hurt. For the first time, I feel free. I feel powerful. And I feel loved.
"Are you okay?" Sidney asks when I finally cry myself out in his arms. We're on my bed, his arms around me like a shield. I don't know if my mother is still outside. I don't care. I'm right where I need to be.
"Yes," I whisper, turning my face up to his. "Are you?"
He presses his forehead against mine. "So long as you're okay, I'm perfect, baby."
"I love you."
His eyes flutter and then fall closed, a tremor working its way through his big body. "Say that again."
"I love you," I whisper, my voice raw.
"I love you more than life, Hattie," he chokes in response, shuddering again. "Christ, butterfly. You have no idea how long I've been dreaming about hearing those words from you."
"Sorry I took so long," I whisper. "I was a little busy trying to find myself."
His eyes spring open, his gaze tangling with mine. "Did you?"
"Yeah." My lips curve into a smile. "Want to know how?"
"How?"
"I asked this grump to save my life, and he taught me that I had all the tools I needed to do it myself," I say. "He reminded me that I'm strong, capable, and beautiful. He showed me how to stand proudly at his side and to fight for what matters to me." My bottom lip quivers. "He taught me how to let myself be loved and that I was always worthy of it."
"Jesus," he rasps, sinking a hand into my hair. His lips come down on mine, his kiss as wild as it is healing. "You're perfect, Hattie. So fucking perfect."
"Show me," I breathe. That's what I need right now. I need him on top of me. I need him inside me. I need the whole world to disappear while he loves me the way only he can.
I don't have to ask twice.
He tumbles me backward, his body covering mine. His lips brush my eyelids, and then each of my cheeks, before he kisses me in that way only he can—the way that says I'm his and he's mine and nothing else matters to him.
I'm not sure he stops kissing me at all as he strips me bare, his calloused fingers running over every inch of my skin. I strip him too, my fingers stiff and awkward and eager as I help pull his shirt off and then his pants.
"You're so fucking stunning," he breathes, kissing his way down my body, reverence in his voice. His lips seek out every single place my mother ever taught me to be self-conscious about, pressing fervent worship over the wounds her words left behind.
I don't feel shy or exposed or like I'm not enough. With his words ringing in my ears and his sincerity washing over me, I don't feel anything except whole and perfect.
