Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I nod. “Same goes for me. If I find anything, you’ll know.”
We share a small, almost imperceptible nod of understanding, and then we separate, each going our own way through the vast mansion. Axel heads into the lounge, and I retreat to my suite. Once I enter the comfort of the familiar walls of my bedroom, I slump on the bed, my mind churning with the evening’s revelations. My father was going to reach out to me when I turned eighteen. Axel’s insights about him as a person. The email that was never mine. All of it collides in a swirl of emotion.
I haven’t spoken to my mum in a while – I haven’t wanted an argument – but now I am ready to have this out with her. I sit down on my bed, unlock my cell phone, and call my mother. The moment she answers, I hear the faint tremor in her voice. She sounds nervous to see that it is me calling her.
“What were you thinking?” I ask abruptly. “It was one thing when I was a child, but I was almost eighteen. I was old enough to make my own choices and my own mistakes.”
“What are you talking about?” my mum says, playing innocent.
“Stop lying, Mum. I know you sent my father a cruel email pretending it was from me, saying I didn’t want anything to do with him.”
Her breath catches audibly. “Jo … I …”
“Don’t bother denying it. You’ve lied to me enough already,” I cry heatedly.
Tears break through her voice, and she starts again. “I did it to protect you, darling. I knew he had more money that Croesus. I knew he’d come looking for you when you were eighteen. I was scared he’d turn your head with his wealth. I didn’t want him to take you away from me, from the life we shared.”
“You thought he would take me away,” I say. “So, you didn’t do it to protect me. You did it to protect yourself.”
“I was scared he would contaminate you. Make you like those unscrupulous people he hung around with.”
“Stop fucking lying, Mum.”
“Is it so bad that I didn’t want to lose you?” she sobs.
“Having a dad wouldn’t have made me not want a mum,” I say sadly.
“I know. I just. I panicked. I knew he’d come looking for you when you were eighteen, and I knew he’d tell you how I had kept him away for all of those years. I was afraid you’d start to hate me. And I was afraid for you going into that life.”
“He wasn’t abusive to you, was he?”
She sniffs. “No. He wasn’t abusive, Jo.”
“And you had no reason to think he would hurt me.”
She takes a deep breath. “No. I didn’t think he would hurt you. But I just … I wanted to shield you from the public eye, from being drawn into a world that I couldn’t let you be part of. I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
I close my eyes, a mixture of anger and understanding roiling inside of me. I still hated the fact that she kept me away from my father, but for the first time, she has admitted it was because she was scared that she would lose me, and I can’t help but soften at that. I guess she did it out of a kind of fearful, possessive love.
“You lied to me all my life,” I whisper. “What did you expect to happen when I found out the truth?”
“I hoped you never would,” she admits, her voice breaking again. “And I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to do what was best for you, for both of us. I see now that I was selfish. I didn’t give you the chance to know your father, and that was wrong of me, but it was all out of love.”
My throat tightens at her tears, the sincerity in her voice.
“Mum, please don’t cry,” I say gently. I have always hated to see her cry, and to know I am the one who caused it this time hurts me almost as much as her betrayal does.
“I’m still angry, but I get why you did it,” I say softly. “I will forgive you, I promise. I just need time to process everything.”
There’s a pause on the line, the kind that hums with the weight of unspoken emotions.
“Thank you, Jo. I love you and I always will,” she murmurs, and I can hear the relief in her voice.
We speak a little longer about things that are less fraught. She asks me about the house, my work on the collection. I tell her about everything except the fake painting. Not once does she tell me I should come home or say I shouldn’t be here, although when I tell her I am going to be here for a year, she makes a little mewling sound of disappointment and sadness. I reassure her it’s only because of the collection. The call ends on a warmer note than any of our previous ones. When I hang up, a strange lightness settles over me, even as the enormity of the inheritance and the stipulations of the will still loom ahead.