Page 28 of Betrayed By Sin
At breakfast, my mother and I sit across from each other at a table far too long for two people. The distance between us isn't just physical. It’s layered with years we lost, things unsaid, choices made before I was old enough to understand. We speak, but it’s careful. Cautious. Like we’re testing the ice between us, unsure how deep the water is below.
We’ve had some really amazing conversations, forgiveness throughout, but things are still so fresh for us both.
She asks me about my childhood.
About the things I loved.
About the things I missed out on.
Her voice is soft when she speaks, almost unsure. Like she’s afraid to ask too much. There’s regret in her eyes, but she doesn’t force the conversation. She just listens.
And that, more than anything, feels foreign.
To be listened to. To be seen in this gentle, non-demanding way.
Cameron, on the other hand, is a silent storm. Always nearby, always watching. He hovers just enough that I feel him on the staircase behind me, lingering near the study door, passing me a dish at dinner. He doesn’t ask about my feelings or press into my memories. He doesn’t offer apologies for what’s happened, or explanations about what’s to come.
He just watches. Like he’s waiting for something.
Waiting for me to fall in line.
Waiting for me to say I’m home.
Waiting for me to become the Rusco I’m supposed to be.
But I don’t know what that even means. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
Right now, I only know how to exist in this in-between. A girl with two names, two families, and no place to actually belong.
I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Just last week he was joking, chatting with me about life and complimenting who I’ve become but now… he’s distant.
The only one who has no issue adjusting is Axle.
He charges through the estate’s manicured gardens like he’s on a mission, kicking up dirt with every wild twist and turn. He chases birds off the fountain ledges, splashes through the shallow pond like it’s a game, and rolls in the grass until he’s caked in mud and sunshine.
He naps at my feet when I sit outside, flops dramatically on my bed every night, and follows me with the kind of loyalty that makes it feel like maybe I’m not as alone as I think I am.
He’s my shadow. My anchor. My proof that something real still exists in this gilded lie of a world.
One afternoon, I’m out back with him, barefoot in the grass and throwing a half-chewed tennis ball down the lawn. Axle sprints after it like he’s been waiting all day for this moment. I can’t help but laugh as he skids in the grass, snatches the ball, and comes bounding back with his whole body wiggling with pride.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, crouching to scratch behind his ears. He drops the ball at my feet and flops over like he’s earned a medal.
I laugh again, the sound catching me by surprise.
I forgot what it felt like, laughing without it hurting.
“Magnolia,” a voice calls gently from behind me.
I turn to see my mother descending the patio steps. She’s dressed casually today, hair pulled back, her posture relaxed. I rise slowly, brushing grass from my hands.
“He’s a beautiful dog,” she says.
“He’s a menace,” I reply, but I reach down to ruffle his ears fondly. “But he’s mine.”
She smiles at that. “He likes it here. I’ve enjoyed him being here.”
I nod. “He likes anywhere I am.”
