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“He insulted you. He should die for that.”
“Come on, Enzo,” she said, trying to pull her hand from mine.
I didn’t let her go.
“I mean it, Molly. He did and he should have died. And if you hadn’t intervened, he might have.”
She blinked, then nodded.
I should have left well enough alone, but I couldn’t.
“Are you scared now?” I asked.
“Should I be?” she said.
“Probably,” I said.
She deserved the truth. Deserved so much more, but I could at least give her that.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Molly. Soft things, soft people, don’t survive my world. My mother didn’t,” I said.
I don’t know why I mentioned it, but once the words started, I couldn’t stop them.
“My mom said she was tough. That she could handle the life. But she couldn’t. So she packed my sister up and left when I was five,” I said.
“Did she…?” Molly asked.
“Die?” I supplied.
She nodded, her expression fearful.
“Nah. She lives in Arizona,” I said.
Molly smiled, though I didn’t miss the tears glistening in her eyes.
“She made her choice. My father respected that. It didn’t need to be more dramatic than that,” he said.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Your mother left you,” she said.
“She did. But I get it. She loved me. Do you know what the last thing she told me was?” I said.
“No,” she whispered.
I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know that. But she told me soft things don’t survive. So I couldn’t be soft. She told me she wasn’t soft, either—but she was leaving for me.”
“I don’t know your mother, and I don’t want to judge her, but she’s a liar. She left for herself,” Molly said, her voice stern.
“You mad at my mom for walking out on me?” I asked.
It was kind of sweet, Molly being hurt on my behalf. It showed she cared, and that fucked me up.
“If you’re okay with it, I guess I am. And sometimes walking out is the best thing a parent can do. But they don’t have to make up stories about why or tell you that it’s for your own good,” Molly said.
I heard the bitter stirrings of familiarity there. Would have been able to guess that her story was much like my own, even if I hadn’t dug it up already.