Page 177 of Dream On

It’s true.

It’s heartbreakingly true.

My chest tightens as memories flood back—long, troubled nights spent staring at the ceiling, awake and alone, drowning in silence and wondering if it would ever change.

There were times I almost gave up, wanted to end it all, because I couldn’t see past the hollow, empty void that had become my life. I would havewelcomed a deadly fist to my head by my soulless father, just to put me out of my misery.

What was the point?

I had everything, and I felt nothing.

I was a fraud.

Upholstered skin and a rubber heart, my smile always full of holes.

If it wasn’t for Stevie—if I hadn’t had her to cling to, even when she was hundreds of miles away—I don’t know if I’d be here right now.

The notion is staggering.

My mother’s eyes glaze over, her face twisting with realization. “Lexington,” she murmurs. “I only wanted the best for you. You have to believe that.”

“You wanted the best for you. That’s not how love works.”

The damage is laid out in piles of shrapnel and waste between us, too much to sift through to find a shred of recovery. And as I stare back at the woman who brought me into this world, I realize I no longer want her to be a part of mine.

I’m done.

I should have been done a long time ago.

Gravel coats my words as I take a step forward and meet her eyes. “I want you to get out. Lose my number. Leave your key to my condo, and never contact me again.”

She gapes at me, mouth hitched with horror. “Sweetheart…no. Think about what you’re saying.”

“I am thinking. For once in my goddamn life, I’m thinking clearly,” I say, steeling my voice into resolve. “You taught me how to be afraid of love. That survival meant wearing a mask, smiling through the pain, and never, ever letting anyone see what’s real. You taught me how to close off my heart, made me believe love was something I had to earn, not something that should have been freely given.” Emotion carves itself into every word. “And I hope every time you close your eyes, you remember that. I hope it haunts you, knowing that all I ever needed from you was the one thing you could never give me.”

Real, unconditional love.

Her breath stutters, and for a split second, I see her flinch, awareness brightening her eyes. It slams into her—the lies, the guilt trips, the false promises,the manipulation, the exploitation. Everything she set in motion for her own corrupt version of the greater good.

The roles she cast me in, the lines she fed me.

Her self-serving script.

Tears carve inky lines down her face.

She knows I’m serious.

My mother bites her lip, nods, and slowly moves to the front door. Hesitating, she sets a silver key on the side table before glancing my way. “I love you,” she whispers, swiping mascara tracks off her face.

Her words are a cold, numbing heartbreak. Rubber cement drying in my chest.

And for the first time, I don’t say the two words I’ve always said.

I say the two words I really mean.

“Not enough.”

That’s the hardest part.