Page 11 of Shattered Promise

Mom clears her throat, fidgeting in a way that’s so unlike her it feels like a tell. “Well, I think one of your brothers signed me up on the interest form as a joke, but neither of them is admitting to it.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t sound like them. And even if it was a joke, you should do it.”

Her hand stills on the broad leaf of a monstera. She looks up slowly, teeth catching on her bottom lip. “You think so?”

I’m already nodding. “Absolutely. Your online shop does great already. The fair would be perfect exposure for you. You’ll have to be strategic about your layout, maybe focus on what’s easiest to transport—but yeah. I think it’s a great move.”

Her expression softens. Some of the tension leaves her face, and her smile starts small before it blooms. “Maybe you could help me figure all that out? Since you’re so good at this kind of thing?”

Warmth rises in my chest, curling around something brittle. “Of course.”

“My girl. Always so quick to help,” she says, her voice quiet. “I’m just so proud of you, you know? You’ve carved out your own little space in the world. Following the beat of your own drum.”

I let her voice fill my tiny apartment, a one-sided symphony of affection and good intentions. But with every platitude, the tide of anxiety swells higher.

“Did I tell you Chelsea’s pregnant again? Sixth grandchild for Sandra. And she watches all of them, every day. I don’t know how she does it.”

A push notification rolls across my screen, and my heart stutters.

Mason.

I tap the message before it disappears, letting my mom’s voice fade into the background.

Mason: What did Cora bring for dessert tonight? And did Beau eat it all?

My throat tightens around something I don’t quite have the words for. It’s the first text he’s ever sent that isn’t about Theo. Short and familiar. It lands like sunlight through a crack in a window I thought was closed.

“Abby? Hello? Are you frozen? What’s happening?”

My gaze lifts back to the screen. “Hm? I’m right here.”

Mom tilts her head, brushing a piece of hair off her cheek with the back of her wrist. Her hot pink gardening gloves are nearly neon in the light. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

I force a casual smile. “Just happy for Chelsea, is all.”

Her eyes narrow, like she’s trying to read beneath the surface, and maybe if we were in the same room, she’d be able to. But we’re not.

“Nana Jo always said babies were a blessing,” I add, reaching for safety in nostalgia.

Mom’s face softens immediately. “You’re right. My mother did love babies. She loved all her grandchildren so much.”

The longing in her voice pulls at something deep inside me.

She and Nana Jo were best friends. The kind of mother-daughter relationship that looks more like sisterhood thananything else. Nana used to joke she loved her kids, but liking them was a choice—and she chose my mom every day.

She passed a few years ago, and we haven’t really talked about it since. The grief still sits in the air like pollen. Quiet. Inescapable.

“I miss her too,” I say softly.

Mom sniffs and blinks fast, pasting a smile back on her face. “Well, I should let you go. I know you’ve got an early morning ahead. Don’t stay up too late on account of me.”

“Night, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, honey.”

She ends the call before I can say more. I sink back into the cushions and pull up my text thread with Mason, heart skipping in that same old, dangerous way. I chew the inside of my cheek, then type.

Me: Vegan ube cheesecake. And it was delicious.