Page 84 of Fragile Hearts

I won’t let this define me, and I’m not going to run, even though that was my first thought. But I can’t live that way anymore, and I’m not leaving when the police come.

I need to confront this head-on instead of trying to hide from it.

“I’m not going to Alana’s. She doesn’t get to run me out of my house,” I start, refusing to call her my mother. She’s dead to me after this. It’s something I should have done years ago, but I wasn’t strong enough to see how it was affecting me. Carrying around all that trauma from my past, blaming myself, but she’s the only one who is to blame.

“Call the police. I’m staying here, and I’m telling them I know it was her,” I demand, pulling myself together, wiping away the tears.

Ten minutes later, the police are knocking on the door. Owen and I haven’t touched a thing in the house, but we discovered the back door had been pried open, breaking the lock along with the doorframe. It needs to be fixed, but it’s something Owen says he can do.

We introduce ourselves to the two officers who have arrived, and they take in the house, then ask if they can look around.

One of them begins to walk through the house, taking notes about what he sees, while the other one asks us a few questions.

“Anything missing from the home?” he asks, and Owen tells him what we’ve noticed is missing, but neither of us have ventured too far from the living room area.

The officer notes this and then asks, “Any cash or credit cards kept in the home?”

“No,” Owen says, shaking his head, looking over at me, and I respond with the same. I don’t even have any disposable income to my name, which I’m grateful for in this instance.

He asks a few more basic questions, just as the other officer is returning. It’s been pretty simple, and while I’m still upset, still stressed, they’ve made the process easy.

But then one of the officers says, “Generally, we don’t find the people who do these petty break-ins. It sucks, and I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s the nature of the situation.”

“It was my mother,” I blurt out, and while I can’t be one hundred percent certain with no real evidence, it would be way too coincidental.

She shows up out of nowhere, when I’m shown in the media with my wealthy boyfriend, and then our house gets broken into.

I guess it’s possible she sent one of her friends to do her dirty work, but after the conversation I had with her the other day, this is her way of getting revenge. She doesn’t want me to have a good life because she’s done her best to ruin it, to make me just like her.

But I will never be like her. She’s made sure it’s the last thing I want, especially after seeing her and now this.

The officers both look at me, almost shocked expressions on their faces at my admission. “What makes you think it’s your mother?” one of them asks, pulling his notebook out again, poised and ready for me to share.

“I have a very contentious relationship with my mother. She’s a drug addict and recently got back in touch with me after years of basically nothing. After abandoning me as a kid. Last week, I told her I didn’t want anything to do with her.” I pause, taking in the mess, reminding me of what she’s capable of. “This is her revenge.”

“We can try to locate her and interview her, but without any concrete evidence, there isn’t much else we can do,” the officer says, and this is why she does shit like this. She gets away with it.

“Can’t you dust for prints?” Owen interjects.

“We don’t tend to because the areas touched by the suspect tend to be the same areas that you would touch, making it nearly impossible to get clean prints,” the officer explains.

“But you’ll check in with her?” Owen asks, and the officers nod, taking down her name, although I don’t have an address to give them.

“We’ll try our best, but without her just admitting to it, there’s not much else we can do. We suggest you don’t stay here tonight,” the officer says, motioning to the back door that no longer locks. “We’ll get it boarded up for you, and we’ll follow up with you if we’re able to get any other information. We’re sorry this occurred, and sorry that these types of people generally don’t get caught.”

“Thanks, but I can take care of it,” Owen says about the door as he extends a hand. But he doesn’t sound too happy with their answer, and to be honest, I’m not either.

What kind of person does this to their own daughter? But to her, I’m nothing more than an opportunity for money, which will allow her to get her next fix.

Just as Owen is walking the officers to the door, his phone chimes with an incoming text. He stops in the doorway as the officers make their way to their cruiser, and I come up behind him.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he looks over the text before showing me the screen as he mutters, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I don’t recognize the name, but it’s obviously someone Owen knows because their contact information is in his phone.

* * *

Drew Townsend: Dude, someone just came in and tried to pawn your laptop. Didn’t even bother taking the stickers off.

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