Page 11 of His Toughest Case

"Look at me, London," I say, waiting until her eyes reluctantly meet mine. "When I say I want you, I meant all of you. The good and bad… The beautiful and ugly. Everything."

“Curt,” she moans, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “I…”

The doorbell rings then, cutting off whatever she wanted to say.

“I'll get it,” she mutters, walking away before I have the chance to say anything else.

She's running away.

It'd be best to wait for her. I'll have to trust her to come to me when she's ready.

Heaving a soft sigh, I look around to see what can be done to salvage the ruined breakfast. Suddenly, I hear London's voice, but it lacks the calm soothing quality that I usually associate with her. She seems to be in a heated conversation with someone else. The other person sounds equally agitated.

I walk into the living room just in time to hear London asking an older woman to leave. The woman looks in my direction when I walk in. I barely keep a straight face at the sight of the fresh bruises on her face and arms.

"This is him, right?" she asks, looking from me to London and back to me. "You're Curt Farrell, aren't you?" She walks over to me and holds her hand out with a smile that looks painful on herswollen face. Up close, I can see that some of the bruises on her arms have little red dots in the center.Track marks.

“Hello, Curt. Do you remember me? I'm Diane. We used to live in the same neighborhood.”

I don't remember her, but I can guess she's London's mother from the striking resemblance she bears to her. Or used to bear, I imagine; her hair is lank and limp, and her big brown eyes are sunken. The swelling from her injuries can’t hide her skeletal thinness.

“Mom, can you please go?” London says, her voice tinged with exasperation and an unsettling urgency. “Please!”

"You need to help me," Diane continues like her daughter didn't just speak. "I found out from a mutual friend of London and Amelia that she was here. I did some digging and I discovered you've become a hotshot lawyer. Y-you need to help me, please. My husband… he's a gone man. You need to help me lock him up."

"Mom, stop!" London snaps, her voice ringing with barely restrained anger. "You can't do this. Please…"

"He's going to kill me," Diane counters. "You're my daughter; you don't want me to die at his hands, do you?"

“What did you do when I tried to get you out?” London asks with a scoff. “You called me a liar in court and went right back to him! You watched him bully and insult me for years after. You did nothing! You always chose him in the end!”

“I'm sorry,” Diane replies with a helpless sob. “I'm so sorry, London! I- I'm ready to get out now.”

“Oh my God,” London mutters, running a hand through her hair as tears spill down her face. “I-I can't do this again. I won’t help you just so you can hold it against me. I can't…”

Diane rushes over to take London's hands in hers, her face wrought with desperation as she struggles to catch London's evasive gaze.

“Please, baby,” she cries. “He's gone mad. I may really die if he isn't locked up. He's out of control.”

I watch the exchange between mother and daughter, slowly getting an insight into the pain in London’s eyes earlier. She must have lived a tough life, constantly hurt and betrayed by the ones who were supposed to protect her.

My chest tightens with anger at Diane's selfishness and at that moment, I want to pay her back tenfold all she'd done to London. I want her to feel the pain and sadness that my love must have endured all these years.

I step forward, clearing my throat lightly to get the women's attention.

“I'll help,” I say quietly, pinning Diane with a hard gaze. “I'll put him in jail on the condition that you stay out of London’s life. Forever.”

London lets out a shocked gasp. “Curt…”

“I'll do that,” Diane says quickly. “I'll never see her again after this.”

London gapes at her mother in disbelief. I can see the realization slowly dawn in her eyes: the fact that she's just been betrayed again by her mother, abandoned without a second thought.

At this moment, I've never disliked anyone more than Diane Monroe.

Chapter Seven

London

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