Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 124451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
I shake my head and stand up, pulling at her hands. “Come on,” I insist. “I’ll help you pack. We’ll find a cheap motel and pay cash. We’ll go somewhere he can’t track us.”
“Believe me,” she says, pulling back on her hand, refusing to budge. “If I could, I would, but there’s so much more going on that you simply don’t understand, and I don’t want you here to find out the hard way. Just please, Brielle. Please just go.”
I scoff, anger starting to burst through my chest, hating how hard she’s making this. I can’t save her if she doesn’t want to be saved. “You mean his sick fascination with me?” I spit, watching as her face drops, realization in her eyes. “You mean how you’ve married him simply to keep him from doing the same to me? I know it all, Mom. I know what you’re doing, and I don’t want you putting yourself in this position to save me. You can’t live like this. It’s getting worse. The bruises are getting harder to hide, and soon enough, he won’t be able to stop himself. How much of this can you take before he kills you? I just … I don’t understand why you’d put yourself through all of this. Does he have something on you? Is he threatening you?
Mom sobs and I rush in, throwing my arms around her, knowing I’m right, and whatever it is, it’s enough to push mom to strength lengths. “How long have you known about all of this?” she questions.
“A few weeks,” I admit. “Orlando made some comments to Tanner, threatening him and boasting about his plans for me, and we’ve been putting together all the little pieces. I get it, Mom. You’ve been hurting me to force me away, pushing me out the door and making me not want to come back, but you’re my mom. I love you, and no matter how much you push me away, I’m going to keep coming back. I just wish I knew how we got here.”
She shakes her head, pulling back enough to wipe her eyes, only to cringe when she touches the swelling. “Honestly, honey,” she says, completely defeated. “I don’t even know myself. The first few dates seemed authentic and I truly believed we were starting something real. He was charming and the perfect gentleman, promising to save us from Hope Falls and give us this luxurious new life, but then I started to see through the cracks and he became controlling and dangerous. One second, I was falling for him, the next he was threatening to expose some ugly truths about the woman I was before I had you and your brother, and I just … please trust me when I tell you those things cannot see the light of day.”
“Mom,” I whisper, searching her eyes.
She shakes her head, refusing to get into details with me. “I saw him looking up your socials, zooming in on your images, and when I confronted him about it, he just … snapped. It’s why I took off to Paris without you and married the bastard. I wanted to put distance there and tie him up in legal documents, yet the more I keep you away, the more he becomes obsessed with this idea of having you close. You should see him, honey,” she says, devastation in her tone. “When you’d come home and hang out by the pool with your friends, he’d stand at the window watching you, and I’d have to come up with an excuse to pull him away. It’s sickening. He thinks I’m jealous of his little obsession, and for the most part, I just let him believe that because it’s better than him finding out how I’ve been purposefully pushing you away. I just … I’m terrified I’m not enough to hold his attention and sooner or later, he’s going to get bored and go searching for something only you will satisfy for him.”
My mind reels with all this information, but one thing rests against my soul, darkening it with its ugliness. “But last week when you kicked me out, you did that in front of him.”
Mom presses her lips into a hard line and glances away. “Yes, I did,” she says. “And I paid greatly for it, but I don’t regret it because it meant you were no longer expected to come home and live under his roof every night,” she sobs, wiping her eyes again. “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve laid awake, terrified of him slipping out of bed and forcing himself into your room? I would check your door every night, making sure it was locked.”
My heart shatters for everything she’s had to endure in order to protect me. “What do we do?” I question, gripping her hands.