Page 229 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

My jaw drops.

“You were nine. The first time you put yourself between your father and I. You were so small, and you still jumped in without hesitation… I still see that day every time I close my eyes.”

More tears escape her eyes.

“Maybe you weren’t brave enough to go to the police after that night. But how can I blame you when I was never brave enough to stand up to your father?”

I never blamed her for tolerating the abuse—okay, maybe I blamed her a little. But to be fair, she never knew that he was violent with me. I never told her.

And I never will.

He’d call me names and boss me around in front of her, but hit me? Nah. That shit was reserved for the privacy of my bedroom. He’d wait until I was completely alone. Vulnerable to his mood swings. Plus, he didn’t want anyone to intervene. It would’ve ruined the fun.

“I should’ve taken you away from him the minute he even looked at you wrong…” She stops, shutting her eyes like the recollection sickens her. “I was a high school dropout who’d gotten knocked up at seventeen and had no one apart from Lillian. As much as it hurts to admit, I was convinced this was the best life I’d ever be able to give you. Your father was an unpleasant prick, but at least you’d never want for anything.

“It was like you knew I’d never leave him. So, you protected me… even though I was supposed to protect you. That’s just what you do, honey. You protect me. God, I’m so sorry I made you feel like you had to take care of me when it was never your job.”

I’m the one tearing up now.

I had no idea that getting an apology I didn’t ask for would feel this liberating.

“Mom—”

“No. It was my job, you hear me? Mine. You were a kid. I failed you the day I allowed you to carry my burdens for me.”

A painful pit forms in my throat.

It’s like a huge weight just slid off my shoulders.

“You were seventeen years old, for God’s sake. You’d just lost your childhood best friend, and your first thought was how is this going to affect my mom?”

“I betrayed him.” My voice breaks on the last word. “He was my friend, and I let his murderer walk free.”

“Hey.” Mom tilts my chin up, aligning my gaze with hers. “You did what you thought was the right thing to do. You might be famous, honey, but you are still a human being. I think you forget that sometimes.”

I release a deep sigh, burying my face in my hands for a brief moment. “Fuck, I… I don’t know what to do. If I come clean, I’ll lose everything.”

She scoots closer to me on the couch, rubbing my back gently. “If you don’t come clean, you’ll lose yourself.”

Hearing her say that flicks a switch inside my brain.

It’s as though I can finally see clearly for the first time in five years.

On autopilot, I grab my phone out of my back pocket, pull up my conversation with Drea, and type out a text I should’ve sent her a long time ago.

Kane

Tell them I changed my mind. I’ll do it.

HADLEY

The next two days merge together, morphing into one big web of confusion I couldn’t unravel if I gave it my best shot.

I managed to drag myself out of bed and go down to the gym in Mom’s building this morning. Now, I’m not saying I deserve a round of applause, but considering the fact that I haven’t been able to truly smile in over a week, I’d appreciate a pat on the back or, at the very least, a pity thumbs-up.

I dreamed about him last night.

Of course, the whole thing made no sense—someone had cast a spell on Kane and turned him into a talking alpaca—but I still woke up feeling shattered inside.

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