Page 223 of Even Exchange

“Because you were caught, or because you know it was wrong?” My heart pounds as I await her response. I don’t even know why I want these answers, but my therapist seems to think a conversation with her will help my healing process.

She waves a hand. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” I scoff, anger rolling through me. “Noah’s father almost shot me thanks to you!”

“I told him the baby wasn’t Noah’s because I thought he’d leave you out of it,” she says, lips tight.

“Well, all it did was make him more eager to jam a gun in my side,” I say, a shiver racking through me. “So thanks for that.”

“Someday you’ll realize being a parent is not an easy task.” She shakes her head. “The decisions you make might blur the lines of morality.” Her eyes bore into mine. “But you’ll do it because it’s for your family.” I huff a laugh.Even jailed for life, she’s still lying through her teeth.“What’s so funny?”

“You’re sitting here, using your family as a cop-out for the decisionsyoumade.” I purse my lips. “You’re using us as an excuse.”

“Everything I was working towards was for our family,” she says, jaw tight. “I was making sure none of us would have to worry about anything ever again.” I don’t have the energy to argue with her delusional logic. It’s as if she forgot she cut me off financially when I needed her the most. I didplentyof worrying. “I brought us money, power, and security.”

“We didn’t want any of it,” I say, no fight left in me. “We just wanted amom.”

“You were more than happy to accept access to your trust fund again,” she says condescendingly. “You must care about the money alittlebit.”

“Honestly? When I got the call from the estate lawyer, I almost told them to shove the blood money. Because we both know that’s what it is.”

“Charlie,” she warns.

“But I quickly realized there’s a lot of good that can be done with it.” Pride fills my chest.Somuch good can be done. “In fact, I’m headed to a charity event right after this.”

A smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “Following in your mother’s footsteps after all.”

It’s clear she’s not remorseful. She still doesn’t view the things she did as wrong. She’s unapologetic. Hell, maybe she should be in a psych ward instead of a prison.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I say, and it feels final.

Her gaze holds mine, and Ialmostsee a crack in her resolve.Almostsee a hint of moisture in her eyes. “Goodbye, Charlie,” she says, hanging up the phone, standing, and walking away without a second glance.

As I leave the prison, a single tear rolls down my cheek. My mother did a lot of fucked-up things in her life. But if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s whatnotto do with my family. Because of her, I will be the most loving, understanding, present parent to our children. I’ll never take my husband for granted or forget to tell my friends how much I appreciate them.

My mother set fire to my life, like Noah’s father did to his, but they didn’t realize it would ignite a raging infernowithinus. A burning desire to share that light with the world.

Thanks for dropping the match.

NOAH

“Sorry I’m late,” Charlotte tells me, leaning in, and I kiss her on the cheek.

“It’s okay. We haven’t started yet,” I assure her as we stand backstage, preparing for the opening speech of the inaugural Caruso Safe Haven charity event. A weekend filled with relays, NFL player/fan meet and greets, a silent auction, and a formal gala, all raising funds to benefit the Hope House, a shelter for those impacted by domestic violence in our community.

After Charlotte received her trust fund, she came to me with the idea. Since my father was gone,for real this time, Mom and I agreed to share our story and utilize my platform and connections to bring awareness to the cause. With Charlotte’s money, we created a safe haven, a house of hope, where victims can come when they feel there’s no way out.

Mom walks up, and passes our sweet little Gabriella to Charlotte. A small smile graces my lips as my daughter’s beautiful brown eyes meet mine. She looks just like her mother, and my chest squeezes.

“Ready,sole mio?”Mom asks, pulling my attention to her.

“Yes.” Anxiety squeezes my chest.I can do this.“I’m ready,” I say, and Charlotte’s eyes meet mine. “Ti amo.”

“Ti amo,” she repeats, with an encouraging smile, and I press a kiss to her lips.

I plant another in Gabriella’s dark hair, turning to follow Mom to the stage for the opening speech. We climb the stairs, her hand in mine, and the crowd of at least a thousand people wearing various shades of purple comes into view.

I’m handed a microphone, and Mom squeezes my hand, stepping off to the side. “Sono orgogliosa di te,” she tells me.

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