Page 83 of Change
I nodded.
My mother had continued to practice under her married name for a few years after their divorce—there’d been too much going on then, and she hadn’t had the time to officially make the name change. It wasn’t until Anthony and I went to her, telling her that we didn’t want it anymore, that we all changed over.
She’d been worried about him fighting the change in court. He’d always claimed superiority and normally would never give away something that gave him an edge. But he never bothered to respond to the lawyer’s letter.
I wasn’t surprised, after what happened between us, he wouldn’t have dared to try.
“He’s still living down there somewhere.” I hoped he was wallowing and suffering and had an otherwise miserable life. “I haven’t seen him since we moved here permanently.” Back to the topic at hand. “But I’ve worked very hard to lose this accent. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”
“I’m not.” She snuggled closer to my arm. “It’s a part of who you are, and it’s not bad even if you think it is. Becauseyou’renot bad. That’s why you talk so slowly, right?”
My chest lurched, but she wasn’t wrong. “Right.”
“I get it.” Bianca began to pick at the blanket. “I have a stutter.”
I knew that, of course, but I still startled in surprise. Despite it being obvious, there’d never been a reason to discuss it before. This was the first time she’d ever brought it up.
“I had a southern accent once.”
My heart was beating faster as my palms itched.
ThisI didn’t know, because there was zero indication in her voice that she’d grown up anywhere other than here—not even in her own memories that I’d seen. The only other hint we’d been given was the comments she’d made about vegetation and wildlife she’d learned about in her childhood.
“It really bothered Kieran. He spent a lot of time trying to teach me to speak ‘like a noble.’ But once he died, I started slipping. He would have been so upset.” She continued to pick at the blanket. “It went away when I had to learn how to talk again because I picked up the local dialect.”
“There’s nothing wrong with an accent.” Ironic that I was the one convincing her of this now. “We all have accents. If anyone local here were to go somewhere else, they’d be the ones who stood out.”
“I know that.” Bianca looked at me then, confused. “That’s what I was telling you.”
Was it?
Then there was something else she’d said, “You had to learn to talk twice?” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant.
The short burst of victory I’d felt at her openness faded into disappointment as her expression shuttered closed. She chewed the inside of her mouth. Even though it’d come up naturally, I’d pushed too hard.
Bianca surprised me by answering though. “Yes.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “There was about a year or so where I forgot how to talk. The girls had to teach me again.”
“The girls?” I wanted to pry further, but even the short glimpses I was getting into her emotions were coming up blank with frustration. There was no point.
“Are you okay?” I asked instead. “I heard you had a rough day yesterday.”
Bianca barely managed to stifle a laugh as she pressed her mouth against her knees. “F-fine.” Her reply was so quiet that I almost missed it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” If nothing else, maybe I could help with this. I lifted my hand, unsure. I’d used my abilities on her in the past, of course, to help calm her when she was especially upset or needed help. But now, doing it without her express permission felt wrong.
I wasn’t sure what it was. On the surface, it didn’t look like anything had changed. She was more fragile than ever, and I still felt the same undeniable pull to protect her. It was the core purpose of my existence.
There was a different sort of strength that wasn’t there when we’d first met.
I knew this, logically—the others have been telling me too.
So why was it so hard to change?
I couldn’t recall a time when it was like this in the past—though some instances had come close. Then again, we were more than our previous lives.
Something about her made it impossible to ignore her pain. “Do you need me to—”
“Yeah. Could you?” I could barely hear her. I half-expected her to refuse my help—she’d only ever accepted it when under duress. So when she agreed this time, it took a moment for her reply to register.
