“I’m glad that you are in Jesse’s life,” my mother started, but stopped as my father stormed from the room. The door swung shut behind him and we watched as he went to their car. Getting inside, he turned the car on, but it didn’t move. He was waiting for my mother. They were leaving. Again.

Her shoulders lifted for a deep breath. There was so much pain in her eyes. It struck my own, bringing tears to mine, but I wouldn’t shed them. Not for her. She took a step towards me, but I moved away. She stopped. Her head hung down. “I am sorry about how your father and I have behaved. I know that I cannot ask for your forgiveness—”

“Because you don’t want it,” I cut in. I saw it was true.

Shame flashed in her gaze. She didn’t mask it. It remained as she nodded. “You’re right, Alexandra. I don’t want your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. There is no excuse for what we have done to you. You didn’t do anything wrong. There was no reason for us to leave you. I want you to know that.”

The tears slid down my cheeks now. Then why did they? Why did she?

She turned to Jesse, “Have you told her?”

He shook his head. His entire body tensed at the question.

“You can, if you’d like.”

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Oh.” My mother frowned. “So you’ve had contact with her?”

He jerked his head in a nod. He pulled his hand from me and moved away, avoiding my gaze.

“Oh.”

My mind was reeling. Her? Secret? This was it—the secret Jesse had been holding back from me. Every sense in me was tingling. My secret was out. It was his turn. He had to tell me.

My mother looked torn, like she wanted to ask something more of him. Jesse cast a wary glance at her. He shook his head. “Don’t. After what you did, you can’t ask that from her.” He looked at me. “And after what you’ve done to Alex, you don’t deserve to see her.”

My mother seemed to crumble before my eyes. The momentary kindness she had shown me was gone. Even her coldness was gone. She looked broken instead, just like me. She nodded to herself and left. No one said goodbye. No one followed her to the door. She paused there and looked over once more. Her eyes caught mine. I stiffened, pain searing me again, but I didn’t look away. I wanted to, but I held firm. She said, “Losing your brother changed our family. I am sorry for my part. I know that I’ve not been a good mother, but I lost that ability when I lost Ethan. He was my first baby and—” She cut off, her voice shaking from emotion. “There’s no excuse. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Alexandra. You’ve become so beautiful. Do you know that?”

I swallowed over a lump. She thought I was beautiful?

“So beautiful,” she whispered to herself as she left. The door closed behind her, leaving the room in a shocked silence.

I was beautiful? I never thought of myself as beautiful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I was reeling from everything that had happened. Somehow, I ended up in a bathroom with Tiffany. She pressed cool washcloths to my face. For what, I wasn’t sure, but she was being nice. I frowned as she patted my forehead. “Why are you being nice to me?” Then I remembered she’d been crying out there. Why the tears? Did Tiffany Chatsworth actually have a heart? This wasn’t foreseeable.

Her lips pressed together as she drew the washcloth down the side of my face and wet it again. “Don’t get all worked up about it. This doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends. I just,” she frowned and lifted a shoulder. “I dunno. I guess I can relate, in some way. I suppose.”

“You can relate to being dumped by your parents?”

She took the washcloth to my face again. “You’ve never asked Hannah about our parents?”

“I don’t ask anyone about anything.”

Her eyes found me.

“I don’t usually want to know the answers.”

She gave me the washcloth and sat back on the toilet. Then she shrugged again. “Our dad left us. He left my mom when we were teenagers. I always wondered if it was because of us, if maybe we were too much to handle or something. I didn’t know.” She leaned forward and pressed fingers to her temples. She began to massage them as she continued, “And it wasn’t even because he had an affair or another family. He just left. He didn’t want to deal with having a family. That’s what my mom said. I guess I took it as we were too much or something.”

I frowned at her through the mirror. She was hunched over, but I wet the washcloth again. My mind was still reeling. My pulse was racing, but not as much. Maybe the cold water was helping, or maybe it was hearing her sob story. I sighed, “We all have a story, don’t we?”

“Hannah loved our dad. She was his little girl. Not me, I was more into baking and make-up and doing girl things. He took off when she was in seventh grade. That’s when she started sleeping with guys.”

“Isn’t that when she started dating Dylan?”

She shook her head as she continued to massage her temples. Her fingers were working harder, faster. “They started at the end of the summer. She started sleeping around the beginning of the year. That’s why I knew it wasn’t going to be good when they broke up. The ass**le. He did the same to her that our dad did. He just left her. His excuse wasn’t even a good one because now he’s with her roommate and he transferred here.”

“What about Beth?”

She looked up now, genuinely confused. “What about her?”

“I get why Hannah’s broken. Why’s Beth? What happened to her?”

She took a breath and stood up. Crossing to me, she wet the washcloth again and pressed it to the crook of my neck. “I don’t know. Beth and I aren’t close.”

I frowned, but then went with my hunch. It helped to think of their problems. My problems were bad, but in some way I didn’t feel like such a freak. “What’s your mom like?”

“Before Dad left? She was happy. After he left, she became a stoner. She was like a hippy.” Tiffany kept wetting the washcloth. She folded it over inside the sink and pressed down, then would wet it again. I shifted back as she continued that motion. “I think she was one when she was younger before she met our dad. Maybe that’s why Hannah’s like that, I don’t know. I took the mother role. My mom couldn’t handle it. She hasn’t handled much since, except some guy’s dick or pottery. She’s a genius at making pots. Go figure.”