Page 185 of Collide
I don’t know what to say.
I hate Carole. I always have. But Philippa saw something different. She didn’t see the woman who tore our family apart. She saw the woman who stayed when our mother left.
“I know you hate her,” she cries, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “But I can’t. She was there for me when our mother wasn’t. In the same way you love Jack, I love her.”
It’s a gut punch.
I could never compare the love I have for Jack to Carole, but I understand. Carole was there for her. She was a source of comfort. The person who picked up the pieces when our mother left.
And that softens my resolve against her.
I don’t have to like Carole. But I can appreciate what she is to my sister.
Philippa lets out a ragged, unrestrained sob.
And I hold her.
For the first time, I don’t stop her.
Because what do you even say to someone whose entire world has just been rewritten?
I watch her go; my chest tight with emotions I can’t even name.
For so long, I’ve held onto my anger. My resentment. I thought I was the only one who suffered from our parents’ mess.
But now I see it clearly.
She lost something, too.
And despite everything, maybe…we’re more alike than I ever thought.
After Philippa leaves, I sink into the lounge, wine glass in hand, staring out at the cityscape. The lights shimmer across the skyline, flickering like distant stars, but my mind is elsewhere, sifting through the wreckage of today.
Everything with my father is a fucking mess, but somehow, I feel lighter. Like a thorn has been plucked from my heart. Having Philippa know the truth—it’s strangely healing. I’ve carried it alone for so long, assuming she was untouched by the same catastrophe that broke me.
I’m always so wrapped up in my own shit, and because Philippa appears to have it together, I forget that she’s hurting too. We’re both damaged by the same disaster.
The weight of it settles into me as a knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
Riley probably forgot her key again.
I sigh, setting my glass down as I pad over to the door. But when I open it?—
It’s him.
Alex.
My breath catches.
“Älskling,” he murmurs, his voice warm, endearing.
I don’t hesitate. I throw myself into him, arms around his neck, burying my face against him.
He didn’t forget about me.
His arms tighten around my waist, holding me like he never wants to let go. “Congratulations on your performance this morning.” He breathes me in, slow and steady.
“I thought—” I say, pulling back slightly. “I didn’t hear from you all day.”
