Page 22 of What Goes Around

So I turned and walked away. Each step slower than the last, like my body was resisting it, until I reached the street and called another cab.

When we pulled up to my parents’ house, the driver cleared his throat.

“Miss? That’ll be—”

“I… I need to ask my mother to pay,” I whispered. “I don’t have—”

The words wouldn’t come.

He nodded, but I caught the flicker of discomfort on his face.

I walked to the door with shame prickling hotter than any of my wounds.

I rang the bell.

My mother opened the door with a glossy smile that froze when she saw me standing there with hospital bags hanging weakly from one hand.

Her gaze darted to the ruined half of my face, then snapped back to my eyes. A tiny grimace flickered across her mouth, gone almost before it appeared, smoothed away with practiced speed.

“Ashley?” she breathed. “You’re… home?”

“I need you to pay for the cab,” I said quietly. “They changed the locks at my apartment. Everything’s gone.”

For a moment she just stared.

“Oh. Of course. Of course.” She hurried past me toward the car. “I just didn’t expect you back yet. We’re so busy this week, you know how it is. I’m sorry we could only visit a few times, but your father’s schedule has been impossible, and Apple’s been… well, you know.”

Busy.

Right.

Too busy to stay an extra ten minutes to learn their daughter was being discharged.

She paid the driver, then came back with a bright smile.

“Well,” she said, opening the door wider, “come in, dear. You can stay until you figure… everything out.”

I stepped inside, the familiar space feeling distant.

She followed me down the hall to what used to be my room.

Now it was a guest room, apparently.

“All your old things are in storage, don’t worry,” she said. “And oh, honey, just so you know, Apple’s coming for dinner tonight.” She smiled like this was pleasant news. “She has some big news she wants to share. It’ll be nice. Like old times.”

I stared at her. She seemed genuinely oblivious.

I hadn’t seen Apple since that hotel.

No text.

No apology.

No visit.

Nothing.

And now my mother wanted to pretend we were all going to sit around the table like nothing had happened.