When her assistant, Amanda, tapped lightly on her open door, Janie could’ve wept with relief for the distraction. “Come in,” she said, beckoning her in. She saw the apprehension in Amanda’s eyes, and Janie’s relief switched to high alert. “What’s wrong?”
Amanda glanced behind her as if she were afraid the boogeyman might be lurking close by. She met Janie’s eyes again and briefly bit her bottom lip. “Your mother’s here. I told the front desk to convey you were too busy to be disturbed, but she’s insisting on seeing you.”
Janie sighed deeply, and an instant pressure developed in the hollow just below her ribs. It wasn’t quite fear, not anymore, but something adjacent to it, like the muscle memory of that emotion, a phantom limb reaction of a childhood spent trying to anticipate her mother’s moods, criticisms, judgments. She should’ve expected her mother would pull something like this. The fact that she hadn’t managed to bypass the reception desk and storm straight to Janie’s office was likely only because Phillip was on vacation, and the receptionist was new and probably had no idea who Angela Evans was.
The last time her mother had appeared unannounced at Janie’s office, it had been to threaten her. She’d weaponized Janie’s worst fears and deepest shames, and she’d taken whatlittle confidence Janie was clinging to and pulverized it into dust.
But that was before the emergency hearing. Before Judge Morrison had looked at Bradford, her mother’s lawyer, and essentially called bullshit on the entire case.
That had been three days ago. Three days of Janie breathing a little easier, sleeping a little better, and allowing herself to believe it might actually be over.
But apparently not.
“What would you like me to do?” Amanda asked.
Janie could tell the front desk to send her mother away. She could have security escort her out if necessary. She could refuse to engage. Any of those options were well within her rights. She didn’t owe her mother much before all of this had begun, and now that she’d tried to take the triplets away, Janie owed her nothing at all. She’d be justified in stepping over her body in the street if her mother had collapsed.
But even as she thought it, Janie knew she wouldn’t. Because some part of her, the part that was still eight years old and desperate for her mother’s approval, needed to know why her mother was here. Again. Especially after such a humiliating loss. What could she want? Was there any possibility, however remote, that her mother had come to apologize?
Janie took a deep, steadying breath. “Send her in.”
Amanda’s expression indicated she might be impressed. Her assistant knew very little about Janie’s complicated relationship with her mother, but she knew Angela Evans’ reputation. Taking her on was no small thing.
Janie didn’t bother straightening her desk or checking her appearance in the compact mirror she kept in her drawer. Instead, she simply sat in her chair, hands folded on her lap and waited.
Her mother walked through the door looking exactly as she always did: Chanel suit in dove gray, pearls at her throat, hair styled with the kind of perfection that required a standing weekly appointment. Everything about her screamed old money, goodbreeding, and the kind of wealth that didn’t need to announce itself because everyone already knew. It was a façade that hid something ugly and twisted beneath.
Janie had spent most of her life trying to live up to that standard. Trying to be polished enough, successful enough, respectable enough to earn her mother’s pride. Looking at her mother now, why had she ever wanted to?
“Janie,” her mother said.
“Mother.”
Her mother closed the door behind her and settled into one of the comfortable armchairs on the far side of Janie’s office. She crossed her legs at the ankle in that way she’d drilled into Janie as a teenager. Knees together, ankles crossed, hands folded in lap: the posture of a lady.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Janie didn’t respond. She had nothing to say to the woman who’d birthed her and was mother in name only. Her mother’s mouth tightened slightly, the only outward sign of her displeasure, and it was so tiny, the average person would’ve missed it. Janie didn’t. She never had, but then her mother hadn’t tried that hard to hide it before.
“I wanted to speak with you about the court’s decision.” Her mother tapped her long nails rhythmically on the wooden arm of the chair. “To clear the air, as it were.”
“There’s nothing to clear.” Janie looked pointedly at her mother’s hand, and remarkably, she ceased her drumming. “The judge dismissed your case, with prejudice. It’s over.” God, how good that sounded out loud.
“Yes, well.” Her mother’s tone suggested the judge had made some kind of clerical error rather than a well-reasoned legal ruling. “The judge made her position quite clear. Though I still maintain that my concerns were valid, I recognize that the court doesn’t share my perspective.”
The pressure beneath Janie’s ribs subsided, and a fiery flicker in her chest began to rise. Not anger yet. More awareness ofher mother’s careful phrasing, and the way she was framing the judge’s decision as a difference of opinion rather than calling out her malicious attempt to take Janie’s children merely for financial gain. “Your concerns were never valid,” Janie said, keeping her voice level despite the desire to scream the words. “They were fabrications designed to support a financially motivated custody claim.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“The judge literally said you were using the legal system to try to access a trust fund you have no legal right to.” Janie leaned forward in her chair and narrowed her eyes. “Those exact words are in the official record,” she said, tapping her desk for emphasis on each word. She relaxed against the back of her chair and tried to maintain a neutral expression when really, she wanted to revel in the newfound steel she was displaying in the face of her mother’s usually overwhelming presence.
Then Janie saw it. A slight crack in her mother’s composure. The skin tightened around her eyes. A quick clench of her jawbone visible in her gaunt cheeks. Even the hint of a flush creeping up her neck. Her mother wasn’t quite the behemoth she wanted everyone to believe she was.
“Your grandmother’s will was a betrayal. After everything I did for her, all the years I spent caring?—”
“You didn’t care for her,” Janie said and clenched her own jaw at the memory of her mother’s desertion. “You visited her twice a year and complained the entire time about how inconvenient it was.”
Her mother’s head twitched. “That’s not true.”
