Page 87 of I'm sorry, Princess

Lauren at 10:15 AM:Honey, I want to apologize if I was a little bit hard on you. Me and your father love you very much.

Lauren at 12:30 PM:If you want to take lunch with me, meet me at your father’s favorite restaurant! Me and Blakely are taking lunch together if you want to join us.

I stare at the messages, my lips curling into a bitter, humorless smile. Of course. Of course, she’s behaving like this now. As if last night never happened. As if she hadn’t slapped me, hadn’t said those things that tore me apart.

She probably thinks she can sweep it all under the rug with a string of hollow apologies and an invitation to lunch. She even had the audacity to include Blakely in her plans, the very woman who demeaned me at work.

I toss my phone onto the table and lean back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling.

I told myself I wouldn’t cry today.

But my thoughts betray me, circling back to her words, her actions, the sting of her slap. I reach up and touch my bruised cheek. It’s tender, the pain still fresh.

A wave of nausea hits me as the realization sinks deeper: my mother is abusive.

My reflection in the mirror across the room catches my eye. My face is a mess. My eyes are swollen and red, and I look completely drained, like someone who hasn’t slept in weeks.

I blink, willing the tears to stay down.

Do I want to go to that party? Definitely not.

But after last night, I don’t have the strength to refuse my mother again. She slapped me for saying I wanted to quit my job, and I can’t risk another fight. I still don’t understand how things came to this. What happened to her? Did Blakely say something to her? Even if she did, why would that justify hitting me?

It’s something I’ll never comprehend. And it’s something I would never, ever do to my own children.

I sigh and pick up my phone, dialing the one person who makes everything a little brighter. Sienna. She’s my sunshine in a life that’s been filled with too many storms lately.

“Hi, my love,” she answers, her voice warm and loving as always.

“Would you come with me to some fancy party?” I ask, knowing the answer even before she says it. Sienna never misses a chance to attend these kinds of events. For her, they’re both work and play.

“Definitely! What time should I pick you up?” she says without hesitation. I can hear the hum of her car engine in the background, classic Sienna, always multitasking.

“Meet me at 8 PM at the Moretti Grand Hotel,” I manage to say, my voice cracking.

“What happened?” she asks immediately, her tone shifting to concern. “Why are you crying? Or… why have you cried?” She knows me too well.

Before I can even think of an answer, a sob escapes my throat. The tears come hard and fast, pouring out as if I’ve been holding them back all day. I can’t say a word. I just cry, and Sienna listens, silently.

She doesn’t interrupt, she doesn’t try to force me to explain. She just lets me fall apart.

I don’t know what I’d do without her. If we were in the same room right now, she’d probably cry with me until we were both red-eyed and puffy-faced.

“Serena, I haven’t seen you in three days, and it sounds like something really bad happened. Please, talk to me,” Sienna says, her voice tinged with worry. She tries to make a small joke to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make me crash into another car with this anxiety you’re causing me.”

“Everything,” I whisper, my voice breaking as the sobs wrack my chest. “Everything, Sienna.” I’m crying so hard I can barely breathe.

I can feel her panic through the line. “What do you mean ‘everything’? Serena, you’re scaring me.”

I suck in a shaky breath, trying to calm myself. “I’ll tell you when we meet,” I say, my voice trembling. “There’s too much to explain over the phone. We need to be at the party in four hours, and… I need time to cover… everything.” My voice trails off as hesitation creeps in.

“Cover what?” she asks, her voice now filled with fear.

I hesitate for a moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My swollen, red eyes. The faint bruise on my cheek. The hollow version of myself looking back at me.

“Love you, see you soon,” I manage to say before hanging up.

I stare at the phone in my trembling hand, then back at the mirror. I can’t recognize the person staring back at me.