Page 186 of Endgame
Everett’s there, a much younger version of himself. Then there are the people who have to be his parents.
And that girl.
They’re happy. Regardless of where each photograph was taken, the four of them were happy. Their smiles reached their eyes, unlike my parents’.
Jealousy churns my stomach. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.
My body tenses the more photos we go through.
They’re all gone. Must be. And all that’s left of Everett is a sad, bitter man.
Nevertheless, I’m jealous.
Hugs? A show of attention? An ounce of warmth? I’d had none of those.
Until Everett snatched me away. This awful, ruthless man is my source of happiness.
A mirthless laugh bursts out of me. It’s choked and wet with my pathetic sob.
He pauses, his body a large cocoon around mine. His hands rub my forearms.
My monster presses his lips to my shoulder. Foolishly, I relax against him.
As if reading my mind, he says, “Those days, at the Clarkes’, they’re over. Your life won’t be perfect. I’m not a perfect man. But I’ll try for you. I’ll do everything to be a better husband. A good father to our children. You have my word.”
“It scares me.” I slam my eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Believing anything you say. To have hope. I want to believe it, but I’m scared.”
“None of that matters.” One final squeeze, and his hands flip through the pages again. “What matters is that you’re giving us a chance. That you’re willing to hear me out.”
More photos. More picture-perfect moments.
After I’ve collected myself, I’m able to study them. To take a really good look at the girl.
Then it hits me. I was right about our similarities.
Everett is the one who’s wrong.
Something about her, about all of her, reminds me of me.
Goddammit, you’re just like her. Just like your mother.
Your. Mother.
What if Winston wasn’t lying?
When Everett reaches a page with just photos of him andher, I suck in a breath.
“This, Aurora?—”
Anxiety claws at my throat.
“—this was?—”
I blink furiously. The shape of her lips. The small chin. The tooth that’s hardly noticeable to anyone but me.
My God.
Everett says, “My sister,” and at the same time, I blurt out, “My mother.”
