If Martha cut me off completely now, the last two months were for nothing.
"Ms. Bennett, are you alright? Do you need me to call a nurse?" the doctor asked carefully from behind me.
He probably didn't understand why someone who'd just found out they weren't dying looked like the sky had fallen.
I gave him some quick bullshit answer, grabbed my bag, and bolted from the exam room. Finally caught up with Martha in the parking lot. Her heels hammered the tile, sharp and fast, broadcasting her mood loud and clear.
"Martha, wait." I jogged after her. "Let me explain. I really didn't know I was pregnant."
She stopped dead. Spun around. I almost crashed into her. Her eyes were red but dry. Just pure, naked disgust staring back at me.
"Get in the car." The words scraped through her teeth.
I had no choice. She was my mother. And the first thing I'd learned in two months back here was how to take it.
The twenty-minute drive home passed in total silence. Martha's fingers gripped the wheel, knuckles bone-white. I sat buckled in the passenger seat, not daring to say a word.
The car stopped in front of her white single-story house. She yanked the keys out, shoved the door open, and walked to the front entrance. Took her three tries to get the key in the lock. I followed behind. We went in one after the other.
Martha threw her purse onto the shoe cabinet by the door and whirled around.
Before I could react, her hand cracked across my left cheek.
Loud. My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, skin burning. I stood there stunned for two seconds before I realized what had happened.
"You shameless slut!" Martha's voice had gone shrill, scraping against my eardrums. "You didn't just lie about dying—you brought a bastard into my house!"
"Martha, listen to me." I pressed my burning cheek, tried to keep my voice steady. "I really didn't know I was pregnant. I had no idea before I came here."
"You didn't know?" She stepped closer, finger jabbing toward my face. "You didn't know you were pregnant? You spread your legs for someone and have no memory of it? I don't remember giving birth to an idiot."
I opened my mouth. Couldn't say anything in the face of that kind of humiliation. What could I say? I thought I was dying. I wanted to be held. I was desperate to feel loved.
And anyway, whoever I spread my legs for—I was a grown woman.
But any of those sentences would've lit Martha's fuse.
"Who's the father?" When I didn't answer, Martha's voice dropped. That was always the sign that her rage was escalating.
I was quiet for a few seconds.
"I don't know who he is." The safest answer I could think of.
"Huh! You don't know who he is." Martha repeated it with a bitter laugh, every word ground out between her teeth.
"It was a one-night stand." I forced myself to continue. "The night I found out I was dying. I thought I only had three months left, so I did something crazy."
"I know. That's exactly the kind of girl you are." Martha let out a harsh laugh, voice turning colder and more vicious. "You knew how to seduce your stepfather when you were thirteen. Now you roll into bed with some random man and end up pregnant with a bastard."
"That's not true." My voice shook when I said it. "Richard tried to assault me. I didn't lie. I never lied."
"Shut up!" Martha lunged forward, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me backward. My back hit the wall. The back of my head knocked into the crucifix hanging there. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Her nails dug into my skin through my shirt, shoulders screaming.
"Martha, let go of me!"
"You ruined my life! Richard left me because of you! Now you come back with a bastard to humiliate me! You're cursed! You've been cursed since the day you were born!"
Martha's hand went up, about to come down on my face again, when rapid footsteps came from the doorway. A neighbor lady rushed in and grabbed Martha's arm.
