Page 11

Chapter Nine

M y mom’s room hasn’t changed. It never does. Same twin bed tucked into the corner with pictures of her old life taped to the corkboard I hung up months ago. At first, I used thumbtacks, but the nurses made me take them down. They said they were too sharp for someone in her condition.

Someone in her condition. Like that makes it easier to swallow. Like it’s not code for a woman whose mind is fractured and sees shadows where there are none and reacts to threats that aren't real.

She doesn’t look at me when I walk in, doesn’t even flinch. She just sits by the window, tracing invisible patterns into the armrest.

"I brought you flowers," I say, holding them out to her. "Sunflowers. Your favorite."

My throat tightens as I cross the room slowly and set the flowers on her dresser. I shove them into a rinsed-out milk jug that I cut the top off because they don’t allow glass vases here. It’s the only thing heavy enough not to tip over. It's not glamorous by any means, but it does the trick.

"They had fresher ones," I say softly. "But I picked these because I thought you’d want the brightest ones."

She doesn't respond, so I sink into the chair across from her, resting my elbows on my knees, watching the way her gaze skips past me. There’s a split second where I think she might say something.

Her hand stills and her lips part. I find myself holding my breath, but then she blinks hard and turns her head away.

Just like that, I vanish from her world again.

I push myself up from the chair and move to the window, pressing a hand to the sill as I stare out at the garden below. The sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows across the lawn.

At one of the small round tables, a man and woman sit together. She’s in a wheelchair; he’s beside her, dealing out cards. They laugh at something and smile, the kind of smile that feels like muscle memory.

I think back to playing Uno with my mom and dad and how effortless our happiness was.

I blink away the memory. There's a chance my mom will never be able to play again. I'm not sure her mind will ever be settled enough to focus on something as simple as a card game.

When I turn around, I see that she’s watching me now. But it's not the way a mother should watch her child. Her gaze is locked on mine, her body rigid in the chair. It’s a look I’ve seen before, like something inside her mind is trying to place me and coming up with something dangerous instead.

Her fingers dig into the arms of the chair, knuckles white with tension. And just like that, I know we're about to spiral again.

"Why are you here?" she rasps.

"I came to see you, Mom," I say gently. "I brought you flowers." I look at them, hoping she'll follow my gaze and relax.

"You shouldn’t be here." Her eyes narrow. "You’re not supposed to be here."

"It’s okay, Mom." I inch closer. "It’s just me, Avery."

"No." She jerks back. "No, you’re not. You’re her." Her voice rises with a mix of fear and fury. "You’re evil!"

My stomach drops. "Mom, it’s me," I whisper, reaching for her hand. "I swear, it’s just me, your daughter…"

"Don’t touch me!" she screams, and before I can pull back, her hand flies out.

Fingernails dig into my skin, raking down the side of my neck.

I stumble back with a gasp, hand flying to my stinging wound. When I pull my hand away, I see blood.

The tears come fast and unwanted. Because it’s not the scratch that hurts, it’s the look in her eyes, like I’m a threat she'd rather see gone.

I back away, trembling. "It’s okay," I murmur, more to myself than her. "She doesn’t know. It’s not her fault. It’s not her fault."

It still hurts like hell though.

I move to the corner of the room, my throat tight, body shaking. Suddenly, the door comes open, and I expect to see a nurse, but it's Sebastian.

He steps in like he's a wanted guest, a lopsided grin on his face and a bag of candy in his hand. "I brought sour patch kids."

I blink at him, stunned. "What the hell are you doing here, Sebastian?"

He lifts the bag slightly, as if that answers everything. "Your mom mentioned they were her favorite. Figured I’d come bearing gifts."

I just stare at him, heart still thudding, hand clutching my neck. Of all people to walk in right now, it had to be him.

He glances past me toward my mom, then back again. "You okay?"

I swallow hard, head shaking slowly as the memory of the last time he was here runs through my mind.

I saw him in the garden with my mom, a smirk on his face and calculation behind his eyes.

But today, that edge seems to be dulled.

There’s something gentler and quieter in his gaze, and I hate that it throws me off.

"You need to leave," I snap as I cross the room toward him. My hands press flat against his chest, shoving him toward the door before it can close behind him.

He can’t be here.Not when she’s unraveling and I’m barely holding the pieces together. The last thing I need is Sebastian Banks witnessing this broken part of me, offering that cool, clinical judgment of his. Dismantling my already-crumbling world with a single look.

His gaze moves to my neck then my hand and he puts up resistance. "What happened to you? Are you okay?" The look of real concern on his face takes me by surprise.

"Get out," I say again, quieter this time. "Please."

Before I can force him through the doorway, my mom's voice cuts through the tension behind me.

"Sebastian?" she says calmly, almost childlike.

I stop, and so does Sebastian. Glancing over my shoulder, I find her standing now, more composed than she was minutes ago, confusion softening her features. Her eyes flicker from me to him, then down to the candy in his hand.

"Sour patch kids," she says, her voice tinged with delight. "You remembered."

It’s not the fact that he remembered that rattles me; it’s that she did.

My mom doesn’t even remember me, her own daughter, most days, but she remembers him? His name and his face—a single conversation with a stranger about her favorite candy, one that I didn't even know took place?

To my utter disbelief, she moves toward him slowly and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. He stiffens for a moment, blinking down at her as if he's unsure how to react. Then he returns the hug, one hand setting awkwardly on her back.

"I knew you were sweet the first time I met you," she says against his chest.

My throat locks. I can’t move—can’t breathe.

She pulls back, beaming up at him like he’s her favorite person in the world. "Thank you for the candy. You always know how to cheer me up."

Sebastian’s eyes flick to mine, uncertain now, like he’s not sure what the hell just happened either.

I don’t know what to do with the way this encounter rearranges everything I thought I knew.

My chest cracks wide open, tears springing to my eyes. My feelings are all over the place. On one hand, I’m relieved, grateful even, that she remembers something real. That there’s still a piece of her somewhere beneath all the frayed parts.

That relief curdles when I feel the sting on my neck and see the blood on my hand. My own mother looks me in the face and calls me evil. Yet, here she is, trusting Sebastian without fear, while her arms are wrapped around him and a smile is plastered on her face.

Then there's Sebastian, being careful and gentle… and kind . I’ve never seen him like this, and I don’t know what to make of it.

I watch as Sebastian leads her to her chair in front of the window, giving her the candy as she sits.

I stand by idly, staring as she rips into the bag immediately, fingers shaking with excitement as she pulls out a handful of sour patch kids.

I don’t know if she’s even allowed to have candy right now, but I don’t stop her.

How could I? This kind of happiness is a rarity.

She’s smiling— really smiling . And even if it is Sebastian who gave her that joy, I can’t bring myself to be bitter.

Before I realize it, Sebastian is beside me watching her too.

"She told you her favorite candy?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off her.

He nods once.

"And you remembered?"

He glances at me, eyebrows raised. "I remember more than you think."

That shouldn’t affect me, but it does. It lands somewhere deep and lodges itself in my chest.

We stay like that for a while, just standing in the stillness of a room that, for once, doesn’t feel like a war zone.

My mom eventually dozes off, candy lying in her lap, sugar coating her lips and her head tilted gently to the side.

She looks peaceful, like the storm inside her has quieted for now.

I stare at her, my throat tightening. "One day, that could be me," I whisper. "I could end up like her. Gone, but still breathing."

Sebastian shifts beside me. I feel the warmth of his hand hover near my back, close enough to notice, far enough not to cross a line. "That's not your fate," he murmurs. "You’re not her."

"You don’t know that," I say. "It could be in my blood, just waiting. And if that’s how I go out, I hope someone pulls me back from the edge sometimes. Someone who doesn’t give up like my dad did."

I pause before saying, "He stopped visiting last year. Said it was too hard. Then I found out he’s dating some airhead named Dina who's half his age and has an eleven-year-old daughter."

Sebastian’s brow lifts. "Damn. That's cold."

"I’m supposed to go home for Thanksgiving and pretend everything is fine," I say bitterly. "Pretend I’m fine."

"Don’t," he says immediately. "You don’t owe him anything. Your mental health comes first, Avery."

I glance at him, surprised that he actually called me by my name.

"I’m not going home either," he says after a beat.

I tilt my head. "Why not?"

His jaw tightens and his face shuts down like someone flipped a switch. "No reason."

Bullshit. But I let it go for now.

"Okay," I say quietly. "Sounds like we’re both skipping Thanksgiving this year."