Page 811 of Filthy Elites

But there is one concern I have for my mom. Once I do sell my father’s company, whenever that is, she’s not getting a penny. It’s her sole source of income. She doesn’t work. How is she going to provide for herself? I know it’s not technically my worry, that she knows that I’ll be taking over at some point, but she has no idea what I plan to do, what I have in store for Adams Tech for the Future. ATF for short. I’ve always thought the name was corny, but is my mom hoping I’ll just continue to support her lavish lifestyle until she dies?

If she had been a good, kind, caring mom, I would have no issues at all helping her financially and every other way, but when I came to her, crying, bruised, telling her the terrible truth that no one else would ever hear about, she turned away from me, claimed I hurt myself, and never wanted me to talk to her about it again.

She chose her abusive husband over her abused child.

She’s as guilty as my father.

She’s lucky she’s alive.

* * *

I returnto collect my books and head to the dorm. Dawn’s there, eyeing the protein drinks.

“Have one,” I suggest.

“I will. After I go to the gym. Heather is going in an hour. Want to join us?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Too much to do.”

“Couldn’t concentrate at the library?”

“My mom called.”

She takes one look at my facial expression and winces. “That bad, huh?”

“I lied to her, told her I hadn’t been mugged.”

“Geez.”

“Does your mom ask you hugely intrusive questions?” I blurt out.

“Well, my mom is a nurse, so… to some extent, but if I don’t want to answer anything, she won’t force me to or hold it against me.”

“You’re lucky. Your mom respects you.”

“I’m sorry, Brooke.”

“I don’t want you to apologize. I’m happy for you. It’s nice to know that some moms genuinely care instead of trying to manipulate their daughters into behaving a certain way and trying to turn them into puppets or mini mes or whatever it is that my mom’s doing.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Yes, well… actually pumping some iron might help me. Want to head over now and catch up with Heather when she gets there?”

“Sure. I’ll see if she can come earlier.”

So we go, and I lift weights until my arms feel like they’re going to fall off, and I work my legs so hard that I can’t walk straight.

But all the while, I kept hearing my mom's voice in my head, asking me over and over again questions she had no business asking, questions she couldn't even ask because she didn't know about him.

“Do you love Declan?”

“Are you leading him on?”

“What if he has an STD? What if he gives you one?”

“Why can’t you accept that people make mistakes?”

“Why can’t you ever forgive anyone?”

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