Page 81 of Absolution

“Because I need to understand,” I say. “Why you stayed.”

She slowly pulls out a stool and sits. Her hands tremble as she laces them together.

“I married your father the day I turned eighteen,” she begins, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “It had been arranged for a long time. Since we were babies, actually. My grandfather and Kent’s served together in the war. When they came back, they decided our families should be tied together. And so, we were.”

I stay silent, afraid she’ll stop if I interrupt.

“At first, things were… fine. But then your father’s father andmymother-” she pauses, swallowing hard. “They had an affair. Ran off together. It ruined both families. By then, you’d already been born. And my father, well, when he cut ties with the Greysons, it meant cutting us off too.”

She looks up at me, eyes glossy but not crying. “As for Kent’s side? They never forgave me. His mother made it her mission to make my life hell. And your father… he stood up for me, in the beginning. But slowly, he started blaming me for everything too. It was like I became the symbol of everything that went wrong.”

I’m still. Listening. Processing.

“When I found out about his affair with my best friend, I packed my bags. I was ready to go. But he told me I wouldn’t be taking you. Said if I tried, he and his mother would accuse me of abusing you. Said I’d never see you again.”

I feel something break in my chest.

“He controlled the money. I didn’t have help. No one would’ve believed me, not against him, not againsther,” she continues. “So, I stayed. I told myself I’d find a way to leave eventually. I started joining charities, boards, events I used to hate. Tried to build my own leverage. My own image.”

She shakes her head, laughing bitterly. “But your grandmother made sure I barely saw you. Always watching. Always twisting things. And by the time she died, you… hated me.”

My mouth opens, but no words come.

“I knew,” she says quietly. “I knew if I left then, you’d never come with me. You’d never believe me. So, once more I stayed.”

Silence stretches between us like a loaded wire.

I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time, not as my perfectly coiffed, distant mother, but as someone who made impossible choices and paid for all of them.

“I didn’t know,” I say.

“No,” she agrees softly. “You weren’t meant to.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask, my voice quieter now. Not angry, just… tired.

She turns her head away from me, but not fast enough to hide the red-rimmed eyes. She blinks up at the ceiling like she’s trying to force the tears back in.

“Would you have believed me if I had?” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I slowly pull out the stool beside her and sit. The silence stretches. Heavy. Honest.

And I think.

The guy I was, the one who idolized my father, who dismissed my mother like she was part of the furniture,thatguy wouldn’t have believed her. Hell, if she’d told me even six months ago, I probably would’ve scoffed. Maybe even accused her of rewriting history.

But what’s worse?

I wouldn’t have cared.

She had a limo. Jewellery. Staff. A so-called perfect life. And that’s all I ever saw. I never once stopped to ask if she was happy. If she was safe. If she had even a shred of dignity left.

“I wouldn’t have believed you,” I admit, the words burning. “And I wouldn’t have cared. Not really.”

She presses her lips together, nodding once like she expected that.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and for once, I mean it. “I didn’t see you.”

She turns back toward me, her face older somehow. Not just in years, but in wear. Like she’s finally stopped holding her breath after decades.

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