Page 51 of Always Alchemy

I close my eyes for a second. God, this hurts so much. To be knowingly inflicting pain on someone I love, to be denying him access to the little person whose mere presence is a miracle is excruciating and inhumane and godawful.

But so is every single thing he’s knowingly done to Dex.

‘I love you,’ I tell him beseechingly. ‘But you have a daughter and a son and one grandchild, soon to be two. If you insist on cutting Dex and his spouses and baby out of your life, there’s no way I can let you have a relationship with Rosalie. It’s absolutely impossible to imagine that she gets to have a grandfather and Dex’s baby doesn’t. No way.’

He’s staring at me in horror, and I stare back with, I’m sure, equal horror.

‘Belina. You cannot be serious. That’s a cruel, cruel thing to even suggest.’

I press my lips together before responding. ‘I’m as serious as you are, and what you’re doing is way crueler.’

‘But she’s my granddaughter.’ He rises and picks her up under her arms, cuddling her against his body before he stands in front of me. His large palm cradles her head, covering her ear, as if what her mother is suggesting is too wicked and sinful for her to hear. ‘I have rights.’

I almost laugh then. ‘Dad, you have two grandkids—oryou will do soon—and you’re proposing fighting for access to one of them while refusing to acknowledge the other? I don’t think so!’

He stares at me then, his face cold. It’s like he’s had a reminder of what I’m truly capable of.

I’m not his little baby girl anymore.

I can’t be placated with praise and kisses and chocolate coins.

I have opinions, and I have agency, and I have the means to act based on my values.

Even when he doesn’t like it.

Even when it hurts like fuck.

Even when upholding these boundaries is the hardest, most exhausting task I’ve ever faced in my life.

Unfortunately for him, I’m a mother now. And that means I will do whatever it takes to protect my family.

His face changes. ‘You wouldn’t deny me the chance to see this precious little thing grow up, would you?’ he asks, like he knows how soft I am inside, how easily I might crumble if he tightens the screws. It’s a shrewd move. Apply to the Belle he knows, the people-pleaser, the good girl who wants to do right by everyone.

‘What if she grew up to be someone you didn’t approve of?’ I ask. ‘What if she decided she was gay, and she and I were both terrified that you’d judge her when she told you. That she’d lose your respect, that you’d withhold your love.’

‘That’s preposterous!’ he blusters. ‘Of course she’s not gay!’

‘That is not your call to make.’ I stand up and cross my arms. ‘She’s perfect, however she is, and the idea that you mightevermake her feel less than makes my skin crawl. But that’s not what this is about. You don’t get to pick and choose here. You accept your children for who we are, you acceptthe people we love, and you accept the grandchildren we give you…’ I shrug.

‘Or you reject us. But it’s a wholesale decision, Dad. In or out. It’s not too late. I mean, it’s too late with Mum. But it’s not too late for me and Dex.’

‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, missy,’ he says, the venom in his words at odds with the tenderness with which he’s stroking Rosalie’s hair. ‘But I’m going to get your mother to talk some sense into you.’

‘Mum knows,’ I say and watch his face fall. ‘She’s as devastated about it as I am, but she gets it. No one’s asking you to abandon your faith for us. We’d never ask you to choose. But weareasking for some Christian acceptance and compassion, and that decision is yours to make. You either get to have a wonderful relationship with however many grandkids we produce, or you don’t. It’s entirely your choice.’

He doesn’t answer, merely bows his head over Rosalie’s, pressing kisses to the top of her soft blonde head.

‘None of us want this,’ I tell him softly. ‘Dex has come to terms with what you’ve done to him, but it’s not too late to ask for his forgiveness.’

Silence.

‘I’ll let you guys have a cuddle,’ I tell him. I turn and walk slowly to where I parked the pushchair. Everything feels like lead. My head. My feet. My heart. Everything pounds and aches.

My parents reared two pretty decent humans, and we’re popping out beautiful babies. Why my father has taken what should be a golden time in his and Mum’s lives and torn our family apart with his doctrine and his intransigence and his judgement is unfathomable.

There’s only one villain in this scene, and it’s the guy who goes to Mass every fucking day.

So it shouldn’t hurt so appallingly when I catch the agony in his eyes as he gives Rosalie one last kiss, hands her over to me, and walks silently, abruptly, out of the sunny playground.

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