Page 102 of Hades

She set the spatula down and gripped the edge of the counter. Her knuckles white.

“Parents are supposed to love their kids, right?” Her voice was quiet. Thoughtful. Like she was working through something she’d never said out loud before. “They’re supposed to be there. Show up. Give a shit about whether their child is drowning or thriving.”

I watched her closely. Waiting. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I held my breath. Muscles tense. Completely still.

“Mothers and fathers are supposed to carry some of the weight.” She turned to look at me, those eyes searching mine for something. Understanding maybe. Validation. “They’re supposed to teach them how to survive. Not just abandon them to figure it out alone while they sit in a fucking recliner yelling demands.”

The bitterness in her voice cut through the kitchen like a blade.

“Your mother—” I said carefully.

“My mother is lazy.” The words came out harsh. Raw. “She’s been checked out my entire life. Emotionally absent. Physically present but not really there. She sits in that chair and yells for me like I’m her personal servant, like I owe her something for the privilege of existing.”

She stirred the vegetables with more force than necessary. The wooden spoon scraped harshly against the bottom of the pan. The oil popped and hissed. Tiny droplets spattered across the stovetop. The onions and peppers tumbled over each other in the pan, browning unevenly.

“I’ve been taking care of her since I was old enough to reach the stove. Cooking. Cleaning. Managing her moods. And she gives me nothing in return. No guidance. No support. No love. Just demands and complaints and this constant weight that I’m supposed to carry alone.”

She set the spoon down, then stepped back from the stove like she needed distance from the heat. From the memory of it all. When she looked at me again, something had shifted. The anger was still there, but underneath it was something else. Something that looked like grief.

“Rhea isn’t like that,” she said. “She loves her kids. Wants them to be happy. To be free. But Zeus—” She stopped and shook her head. “Zeus treats her like she’s one of his soldiers he can boss around. Like she isn’t the mother who raised him. Like she doesn’t get to make her own choices. Like her grief and her pain don’t matter as much as what he needs from her.”

Something shifted in her energy. A tension I hadn’t noticed before suddenly became visible.

I moved closer. “What happened with Rhea while I was in church?”

Lettie’s shoulders tensed. Just slightly. Just enough for me to notice.

“We took a walk,” she said. Her voice was careful now. Measured. “She needed to talk. To get away from everyone watching her. Judging how she grieves.”

“And?”

“She’s hurting, Hades.” Lettie turned to face me fully. “She’s been holding everyone up since Kronos died, and she’s falling apart inside. Nobody’s noticed. She needs space. She needs to get away from all of it for a while.”

I watched her face. Saw the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine. The way she was choosing her words too carefully. There was something else. Something deeper that had passed between them on that walk.

“That’s not all she told you,” I said.

Not a question.

Lettie reached for the pan. Her hands were steady as she began plating the food, but there was hesitation in the movement. A pause before she scraped the first portion of vegetables and chicken onto the plate. Like she was deciding how much to tell me. Like the act of serving was buying her time to figure out what words came next.

She filled the first plate with careful precision, then moved to the second and the third. Steam rose between us, carrying the scent of garlic and ginger and something green. She stared at the food for a moment. Just stared. Like she was gathering herself before speaking.

“She talked to me,” Lettie said quietly. Her voice dropped lower, more guarded. “Opened up in a way that isn’t mine to repeat. Things she needed to say to someone who wouldn’t judge her. Who wouldn’t try to fix it or make it about themselves.”

She set the spoon down and stepped back from the heat. Her expression shifted again, hardening into something else. Something that looked like determination.

“I’m not going to betray her trust, Hades. Not even for you.”

I moved closer. Not crowding her—just closing the distance because I needed to understand what had shifted between these two women. What vulnerability Rhea had shown Lettie that she hadn’t shown anyone else.

“Zeus will let her go,” I said. “He won’t want to, but he’ll let her go as long as she has someone with her.”

The words came out flat. Final.

Her hands went to her hips with that stubborn tilt to her chin that made me want to kiss her and fuck her and claim her all over again. “Why?”

I leaned against the counter and chose my words carefully. “Rhea’s connected to people. Powerful people. The kind who don’t forget a face or a name.”