I hate how fast that lands.
Because it opens something.
A tiny, stupid door in the middle of all this pain.
And I do not trust doors like that.
My fingers twist in the front of Drew’s shirt without meaning to.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “He still said it’s always been her.”
My mother is quiet for one beat.
“And what did he do after saying that? Run straight to her?”
No.
The answer is no.
And the fact that I have to admit it—even silently—makes my whole heart do something ugly and hopeful and dangerous all at once.
I don’t answer.
I don’t need to.
My mother hears it anyway.
“That’s what I thought.”
I close my eyes.
Because of course she would hear what I don’t say.
She raised me.
Built half the machinery that makes me impossible to kill cleanly.
“Mama, please,” I whisper. “I can’t do this tonight.”
“Yes, you can.”
That lands because she says it with such total certainty that for one awful moment I almost believe her.
Then she goes full mama bear.
“Isabella Calloway, you have never given up on anything in your life.”
Drew’s hand stills completely this time.
I can feel the tension move through him.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Just the awareness of hearing a battle cry given over my bent head while I’m still breaking apart in his arms.
My mother keeps going.
