Page 109 of Under Southern Stars
What I do know is that I won’t make any decisions from a place of hurt and anger. Madison is with me. We are safe. We have time to figure out what comes next.
I start the SUV, adjust the mirrors, and remind myself once more: “Stay left. Everything’s different here.”
Different, but not necessarily wrong. Just a new reality I need to learn to navigate.
“Mom?” Madison says as we pull out of the parking lot. “No matter what you decide about Jack, I’m glad we came to New Zealand. It’s beautiful here.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Me too, sweetie. Me too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
JACK
I wait in the entrance hall of the main house, stomach knotted with dread. The text had come thirty minutes after Sophia and Madison returned from Lake Wanaka:We need to talk. Alone. Meet me in the main house at 8.
The formal tone, so unlike Sophia’s usual warmth, tells me everything I need to know about what is coming. But I deserve it. I will stand here and take whatever she needs to say.
The grandfather clock in the corner ticks relentlessly, each second stretching into eternity. I pace the polished floor, hands shoved deep in my pockets, rehearsing apologies I know will be inadequate.
I hear her footsteps before I see her—measured, controlled, the same steady tread I’d come to recognize in the ER when she was facing something difficult. She appears in the doorway, still wearing the clothes from earlier, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. No makeup. No armor. Just Sophia, raw and real.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she says, her voice eerily calm.
“Of course.” I take a half-step toward her, then stop when I see her almost imperceptible flinch. “Sophia, I—”
“No.” She holds up a hand. “I need you to listen. Just listen. Can you do that?”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
She moves further into the room but keeps her distance, positioning herself beside the massive stone fireplace. Her fingers trace the mantle absently, eyes anywhere but on me.
“I’ve spent the last several hours trying to understand,” she begins. “Trying to make sense of what happened between us. Of who you really are.”
“I’m still me,” I say softly. “The same person you—”
“You’re not, though.” She cuts me off, finally meeting my eyes. “The Jack I knew didn’t have a mansion with staff. Didn’t own a vineyard empire. Didn’t order $300 bottles of wine without blinking.” Her voice remains steady, but I can see the hurt churning beneath her composed exterior. “The Jack I knew didn’t lie to me for months.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“Don’t.” The word cracks like a whip. “Don’t you dare say you never lied. Omission is still deception, and you know it. You deliberately created a false impression. You watched me stress about money, about Madison’s college fund, about yard service…” She laughs, a hollow sound that cuts me to the bone. “God, I was worried about affording yard service, and you own half a mountain.”
“I wanted you to know me,” I try. “Not my family’s money.”
“But the money is part of you, Jack. It shaped who you are. Your education, your opportunities, your choices.” She crosses her arms tightly across her chest. “And you kept it from me. Why? Did you think I was so shallow I’d only want you for your money? Or so weak I couldn’t handle your real life?”
“Neither,” I say desperately. “I just…I wanted to be seen for who I really am, not what I come from.”
“And instead you became a lie.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand in that house, with your mother looking at me like I’m some kind of curiosity, realizing that everything I thought I knew about you was carefully curated? Do you know what that does to a person? To their trust?”
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I wanted to, so many times, but—”
“But what? What possible excuse could justify bringing me and my daughter to the literal other side of the world before revealing the truth?” Her voice finally cracks, emotion bleeding through her careful control.
“There is no excuse,” I admit. “I was a coward. I kept waiting for the right moment, and it never came, and then it was too late.”
“It was too late the moment you decided I wasn’t worthy of the truth.” The first tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. “Do you know what hurts the most? It’s not the money. It’s not even the lies. It’s that you didn’t trust me with who you really are.”
“I trust you completely,” I insist.
