Shortly before my mother’s trial began, she contacted me out of the blue and asked me to pick up Jenna. She had met and fallen in love with a man who lives in Turkey and did not want her grandchild holding her back.
Jenna was given to a foster family temporarily while all the legalities were worked out, and I became her official legal guardian.
Every time I think of the past, every time the demons come back to haunt me, every time it hurts too much, I pick up my little girl and she makes it all better. One day, when she’s all grown, I’ll tell her about her mother. Until then, I don’t mind her calling me mommy.
When she finds out I’m not her real mother, if she chooses to call me Viola instead, I’ll be okay with it. But it will never change the way I feel about her, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.
“Have you decided if you’re going to see him?” Aunt Mayleen asks.
“Alex?” I ask and she nods.
“Yes. I think I need to.”
Chapter 42
Alex has called me thirty times in one year, begging me to come and see him. I ignored his calls, but it didn’t stop him from leaving endless messages.
I changed my number three times, but he still managed to reach me. He must have paid someone to get it.
I didn’t want to see him again, not while I was trying to rebuild my life for both me and Jenna. I could not look forward to my future and back at my past at the same time.
When he called two months ago, I picked up and asked him to never contact me again. That’s when he told me that what he had to say was important. He refused to tell me over the phone.
It took another month before I agreed.
Sitting across from him now, I’ve hardened my heart and I’m doing my best to ignore the good memories we’ve ever had together.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
As soon as I hear him out, I’ll walk out of the prison gates and never return. If he calls me again after today, I’ll change my phone number as often as I need to.
From his appearance, it’s clear that the last year was hard on him. He looks gaunt and tired, and I can see his scalp through the thinning hair on top of his head.
“Thank you,” he croaks. “Thank you for coming.” Holding the handset between his ear and shoulder, he scratches the inner side of his left wrist until marks of blood are visible, similar to the ones on his right cheek.
“What do you want from me, Alex? Why did you want me to come here?”
“I want to help you.” Both his words and his body are shaking as if he’s having a seizure.
“Don’t waste my time,” I say between clenched teeth and shoot to my feet. “Leave me the hell alone.”
“It’s about your father,” he says before I end the conversation. “I want to tell you something about how he died.”
My knees buckle and I drop back down into the chair. I give myself a moment to brace myself for what he has to say, then I meet his blank gaze. “What about my father?”
“He committed suicide.”
“I know that already.” It’s something I hate being reminded of.
During Alex and Marcy’s trial, there was no evidence to prove there had been any foul play.
“He didn’t want to end his life,” Alex continues. “But my mother made it easy for him.”
Blood drains from my face. I try to speak, but I can’t find the words.
“She sent someone to give him the rope.” He clears his throat. “She also sent a note to warn him that if he didn’t do it, she would make other arrangements.”
“Arrangements for someone to kill him?” I try to keep the wobble from my voice.
