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“Is that any way to talk to your mother? I took care of you.”
“No. You hurt me. Repeatedly. On purpose for your own gains. You were sick. And I do hope you get the help that you need, but I have nothing for you.”
“Oh, you have something I need, all right. Money. I remember your fancy boyfriend. Ask him for it. I need two thousand quid.”
“For what?”
She huffed as she followed behind me to my flat. “It's important. Someone's going to hurt me if I don't pay them, so you need to give me money.”
There had been a time when just even seeing her would make me crumble. But I turned on my heel to face her. “Did you already ask Willow and Travis?”
“You're my oldest. You need to take care of me. That's how it's done.”
“No, how it's done is you act like you’re a mother and look after me. Make sure I have food. Make sure the house is clean. Read to me. Play games with me. That's what a mother does. You did none of those things. You made me sick on purpose. So no, you can't borrow money. You can't be in my life. If I see you again, I’ll call the police.”
With that, I closed the door in her face. I leaned against the door and sank down onto my butt, the tears flowing freely and my body racked with sobs.
Fear was a sneaky culprit teasing up my spine. I didn’t even know why I was scared. All I knew was that I didn't want to be alone. And shockingly, I made the one call I never thought I’d make again.
46
Drake
I didn't expect to hear from her. I was still watching her, of course. Every adventure she did, I was somewhere in the background. The kitesurfing nearly gave me a heart attack, but I watched her with such pride. I couldn't believe she'd done it, even though she was terrified.
When my phone rang, I was in the building on the other side of the Thames. Not that I was creepily watching her or anything. I just wanted to be available if she needed me.
“Daphne? Are you okay?”
The sob on the other end of the line was my answer. Before she could even articulate words, I was on the move.
“I—I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing.”
“You needed me, so you called. And that's okay. I'm on my way.”
Through more tears, she muttered, “No, I don't need you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“Too late. Open your door.”
She hesitated, then several seconds later, the door opened and she stared up at me. “How close were you?”
“Doesn't matter.” I reached for her, waiting for her to take my hand. I was there for her, and I was going to give her what she needed, not take what I wanted.
She stared at my hand for a long time and finally placed her delicate palm in mine, and I squeezed her hand.
In a rush, the contact started to fill all those empty spaces in my body, in my heart, and in my soul. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again.
She drew in a shuddering breath, and the next thing I knew her face was planted in my chest and her lithe arms were wrapped around me.
I held her tight. I didn't know what was wrong. The most immediate thing I could offer was warmth. She was so tiny and so cold. Her tears soaked the front of my shirt, but I didn't care.
I didn't care because she had needed me and she'd called me. I wasn't sure how long I held her like that, but we stayed that way until her tears subsided and something cracked open inside me. The wetness rolling down my cheek was my first clue that something had gone wrong. I was crying too.
After two months without her, there was no stopping the emotions I’d buried. There was no hiding from it, no pretending.
I tucked her under my chin and smoothed down her curls. “What's wrong, love?”
“My mother. She turned up here asking for money. I thought I was okay. I thought I could let go of all the things she did to me. But I can't. Suddenly I'm a little kid again, and I feel alone and scared.”
