I sit on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, staring at her contact photo.
It's from a few years ago—us at Heinz Field, cheering the Steelers, both of us bundled up against the November cold.
She's grinning at the camera with that huge, gap-toothed smile that I've always loved. I'm laughing at something she said, looking happier than I've felt in years.
That was before Cain, before everything went wrong.
I hit the call button before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the second ring. "Ripley? Oh my god, sweetheart, I've been so worried?—"
"I'm okay, Mom." The words come out thick. Just hearing her voice makes my throat tighten. "I'm sorry I haven't called."
"Where are you? I tried to reach you at the apartment, but the number's disconnected. And when I drove by, there was a moving truck?—"
"I'm not there anymore." I take a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Cain and I... we broke up."
Silence on the other end for a moment. "What happened?"
I close my eyes.
I've rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in my head, trying to find the right words.
The words that tell her enough without telling her everything.
The words that won't make her blame herself.
"He wasn't good to me, Mom. He... hurt me. For a long time."
Another silence, longer this time.
When she speaks again, her voice is different.
Harder. The voice of a woman who grew up tough in a tough city.
"What did he do to you?"
"Mom—"
"What did he do?"
I tell her. Not everything—not the worst of it—but enough.
Enough that she understands why I stayed, why I was afraid, why I couldn't tell her before.
By the time I finish, I'm crying silently, tears dripping off my chin onto my borrowed jeans.
"That son of a bitch," she breathes. "That goddamn son of a bitch. I'll kill him. I'll find him and I'll?—"
"You don't have to." My voice is quiet. Steady. "He's already gone."
"What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean he's not going to hurt anyone ever again."
Silence.
I can hear her processing, putting the pieces together.
