Page 142 of Changing Rules

I step inside, bumping my shoulder into hers on my way. “I won’t take much of your time.”

“What the hell are you doing?” she snarls, slamming the door. “Last time you were here you ran away, tail tucked between your legs, playing the victim. A rape victim. In reality?—”

“I’m a disgusting slut. That’s what you said when you called to tell me Kevin left you.” I head to the living room, ignoring her death glare. “Did you bother to ask Kevin about it? Itwasrape. He knows that.”

She takes two quick steps into the room, arms crossed. “Does he fucking talk to you?”

Good. I’ve piqued her interest. I’ll need to rile her up if I have any hope of getting her to tell me what I want to know.

“Isabella!”

“So demanding.” I sneer, settling on the couch. “The days when your yelling affected me are gone. If you want to know something, ask me.Nicely. And I’ll think about answering you.”

I survey the room while I wait to see if she will, noticing a half-empty bottle of wine on the dining table and a full glass beside it. She’s drinking. Kevin mentioned that in one of his messages. My mother has never had a drinking problem, but since it’s not even lunchtime, maybe she’s forming one. Not my problem, though. The second I get the answer to my question, I’ll be out of this house for good.

“I see you grew a backbone.” Finally, she sits on the couch, facing me. Her eyes are narrowed to slits, and hate swims in her gaze. Hate for me. “Talking back. Giving no shits about others?—”

“I finally stopped trying to please everyone. The only person I should care about is me. My mental health and my stability come first.”

“As if you weren’t like that as a child,” she hisses.

I clench my teeth and focus on breathing steadily. She can’t help herself, can she?

“You’ve always been a selfish bitch who doesn’t care about the consequences of her actions.”

“Are we talking about your ex-husband? About when I was sleeping with him?” I rile her up on purpose. I need her to fly off the handle so she won’t hold herself back. It’s the only way I’ll get the raw truth.

“So you admit it? That you fucked my husband behind my back? Continuously?”

“Yes.” I nod, dragging my nails over the cushion beside me. “At first it was without my consent, but then he fell in love with me, and eventually I gave in. I let him take what he wanted without resistance. I craved love from you, but you never gave it to me. But your husband did.”

“Sex isn’t love.”

My heart rate picks up. She knew how much I wanted her to love me; she just didn’t care.

“Kevin never loved you. To him, you were a young, submissive cunt. Nothing more.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mother. He loved me. He still loves me. Unlike you.” I hook one leg over the other and settle back into the couch.

“Interesting perspective.” She lets out a humorless chuckle, mimicking my posture. Her fingers are betraying her, though. She’s fiddling with the ring on her index finger. “He never complained, not until you?—”

“Because being with you was the closest he could get to me. That’s why he didn’t leave.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and her expression turns into one of annoyance. It brings me such a strong feeling of satisfaction that, for one second, I think I’m drowning.In my own anger.

“If you hadn’t hated me, or if you’d at least learned how to hide it, he would’ve stayed with you. He would’ve continued believing that by having you, he had me. It’s your fault he left, and yours alone.”

“Unbelievable,” she mumbles. “You have the audacity to come tomyhouse and blame my divorce onme? Onme?!”

“It’s my house too. Pretty sure my father left it to both of us. Maybe we can sell it and split the money? It’s obvious you don’t want anything to do with me, and the feeling is mutual.” I force a polite smile. Am I cruel? Maybe. But after all these years, I know her too damn well. The only way to get the truth from her is to piss her off until she totally loses it. “What do you say?”

“I say you’re a lying little shit.” She snickers. “You lost the privilege to call this place home the second you spread your legs for your stepfather. Formyfuckinghusband! You have no right to even ask for?—”

“He raped me,” I grind out, my cheeks flaming. “I had just come home from a party. I was in my bedroom, the door closed, changing my clothes, when my drunk stepdad burst into my fucking room. You had pissed him off, so he figured he’d punish you. He wanted to fuck your daughter so you’d feel humiliated. He came inside me over and over while you slept across the hall, thinking he’d crashed on the couch.” I pat the cushion. “I had bruises all over my ass. Sure, you couldn’t see those, but the ones on my neck? You pretended you didn’t notice.”

She scoffs. “Sounds more like a sick fantasy to me.”

Oh God. Balling my fists, I lean forward, anger setting my whole body on fire.

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