Page 15 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“I didn’t,” I said in agreement. “I waited for you at graduation a few months ago. You never showed.”

She finally looked up, her perfectly sculpted brows furrowing like I’d accused her of something absurd. “We already told you we couldn’t make it.”

I stared at her, my heart hammering in my chest. Five years. I hadn’t seen my mother in five fucking years, and this was it? No warmth, no regret, not even a trace of apology in her voice.

I should have expected this. Maybe I had expected it deep down, but a small part of me—some foolish, desperate, still-daughter part—had held on to hope. That after all this time, she might at least pretend to care. That she’d see me standing here in front of her and feel something.

“I, uh, got a job in the area.”

My mother barely reacted, still idly flipping through the pages of her magazine. “Working for your father?”

“No— I . . .” Shit. I needed to lie. She couldn’t know I was a nanny because that would come with a whole lot of eye rolls and lectures. “I’m working to help children reach their full potential.”

She scoffed. “Sounds like a bunch of baloney.”

“It isn’t a joke, Mom. Could you at least look at me?”

She let out a long, exaggerated sigh, the kind that always made me feel like I was a burden rather than her daughter. With deliberate slowness, she set her magazine aside and finally lifted her gaze to meet mine.

And yet, even as she looked at me, she wasn’t seeing me.

Everything inside me felt like it was splintering apart. Years of waiting for words of encouragement that never came. Years of trying to be someone she could be proud of, only to realize that nothing I did would ever be enough.

I stood there in front of her, a grown woman who had built a life on my own, without her or Dad’s help, and still, I felt like the same little girl who used to sit at the dinner table in silence, hands folded in her lap, hoping that maybe tonight would be the night she asked about my day.

“Yes, dear?”

I closed my eyes. There was no use fighting this. “I have a job working in Lindley. Can I borrow my old car while I get settled out there?”

“Ah. That is the real reason you’re here.”

No, Mother.

The real fucking reason I was here was that, for once in my life, I wanted to see if you could change. I wanted my parents’ approval, and I wanted someone to hug me and tell me the decisions I’m making in my life were the right ones. I had no friends. I had no family, and I was about to go be a damn nanny for a person I’d met only once.

“Lana is working with your father, you know . . .”

Yes, I knew precious Lana had completed law school and was working right alongside Father, getting ready to take over the business when he retired.

“Great,” I mumbled, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“You can take the white Jeep Wrangler,” my mother said, returning to her magazine as if we hadn’t just had this conversation.

I wanted to scream. To rage. To rip the oversized curtains from their rods, to smash the delicate plates in the cabinet, to tear through the perfect little world they’d built without me. Instead, I took three deep breaths, nodded, and thanked her. Because that was what I always did.

I wished I felt wanted here. Wished I could stay the night, sit down at the dinner table, connect with them like a family.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” my mother asked, still not looking up from her magazine.

I turned my head slightly. “Yes.”

Fable and I had gone back and forth over text the last few days, ironing out the details. There was a back room in the house where I’d be staying, separate from the main living space, with its own entrance and a private bathroom. It wasn’t furnished yet, but she assured me it would be.

I left the room without another word and crossed the marble floors toward the front entrance. My bags were neatly placed on a settee in the foyer, along with the keys to the white Jeep Wrangler. Britton must have set them there for me, always anticipating needs that weren’t spoken aloud.

I grabbed my bags and keys and stepped outside into the warm Texas air. The Jeep was parked in the circular driveway, gleaming under the midday sun. I climbed inside, sinking into the leather seat, and started the engine. It rumbled to life, and I exhaled in relief when I saw the gas tank was full. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the house I’d just walked out of. A place that had never felt like home.