Page 70 of Shuttered Hearts

“Nothing changed.” She shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I never wanted kids, and I never wanted to stay in this nowhere town. This wasn’t the life I wanted, and when your father became fire chief, I knew we would never leave.” She shrugs again.

“So, what? You decided it didn’t matter you were the mother of two children who needed you? Who depended on you? Or thatyou had a husband who was completely devoted to you? You up and left. No thought for us at all?”

“Quinn, I don’t know what you want from me,” she says, exasperated.

“I want the truth!” I yell, causing people at the tables nearby to glance over at us. “I just want the truth,” I repeat, quieter this time, tears forming in my eyes. “I need to understand why you left. What did we do? I need to know what about the drugs and alcohol madethatlife more important than us.”

“Quinn, there’s nothing deeper to it. I wasn’t happy here. I am who I am, and being in this worthless town was never for me. I was meant for more than a life in Ashford Falls. And there was nothing you, your brother, or your father could have done to make staying here worth my time.” Her tone is so matter-of-fact. Not an ounce of remorse.

A self-satisfied smirk grows across her face. “As for the drugs and alcohol, well, if you’ve ever tried them, you’d know how freeing they can be. They’re kind of amazing. They can open your mind to endless possibilities.”

I look at her and realize I don’t recognize her at all. Nothing about this woman in front of me even remotely resembles the mother I remember.

Maybe that’s what held me back, imagining the mother I remembered from my childhood still existed somewhere deep inside.

I had always, in some ways, hoped something had made her leave us. As horrible as that sounds, I always wanted it to be some external force that caused her to turn her back on us. Some threat or fear causing her to run.

But now I know she wasn’t afraid. She was sure of herself and her decision to leave. This woman sitting in front of me was never meant to be a mother, and when she selfishly decided she didn’t want to do it anymore, she moved on to something else.

“What about Max?” I ask her.

“What about him? Your father loved that boy from the moment he came into this world, and that boy loved him. Max never needed me, not when he had all of you.”

“Then why are you here now? Max still doesn’t need you.”

“I won’t be discussing that with you.” She leans back in her seat, clearly done with this conversation.

I study her for a minute but see the resolution on her face.

“Okay.” I reach into my bag next to me and pull out a few bills, placing them on the table as I scoot out of my seat. Before I leave, I lean down closer to her, where she still sits. “Just know, we will all fight till our last breath to make sure Max doesn’t go anywhere with you. There is nothing for you here, and there never will be. You’ve just made sure of that.”

I don’t wait to see if she has anything else to say. I walk away and manage not to look back at her once.

thirty-three

QUINN

I don’t knowwhat I expected when I sat down to talk to my mother. I guess I thought I would have a better understanding of her actions all those years ago. I wanted a clearer picture of just how similar we are. If I’m capable of hurting the people I love most the same way she hurt all of us. And while I want to believe I could never do what she did—walk away because I felt like it—that fear is still there.

What scares me most is how she described her addiction, how great drugs are. If I let myself think about it, I remember feeling the same way. The freedom I had, living without a care for anything, escaping the hell I had been in mentally.

I haven’t thought about drugs once since being home, but back in New York, while I didn’t think about them often, I would catch myself wondering what would happen if I tried them again. I stopped because I woke up one day and didn’t recognize myself, and the person looking back in the mirror couldn’t have been further from the person I wanted to be.

I know I’m happier here in Ashford Falls—happier than I have been in such a long time. Being with my family, with Declan, I’m finally content with my life. But Mom had once seemed happy in her life too.

If it was so easy for her to turn to drugs, then what happens to me if I stop being happy? Will I slip back into old habits, ruining this life I’ve built for myself?

I know I have a few missed messages from Declan, but instead of returning to the cottage and calling him like I promised, I take the walkway up to the front door of Dad’s house when I get home. I’m not ready to face Declan yet, but I don’t want to be alone, either.

“Bean?” my dad asks from the study when I walk in the front door. “What are you doing here?” He’s sitting in one of the armchairs, a book in his hands and a look of concern on his face. “I thought you had plans with Declan after breakfast.”

“Where’s Max?” I avoid his question, and slowly make my way into the room to sit on the couch. I can’t help but think of Declan and me here Thanksgiving night. I wish thinking about it brought me the happiness I felt that night, but right now, it makes me anxious.

“He’s over at Ethan’s,” Dad says as he closes his book and sets it on the table beside him. “What’s going on, Bean? Talk to me.”

I look at him for a minute and realize he might be the best person to help me with all this, but it also means telling him about what happened back in New York.

“It’s a long story,” I tell him quietly.

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