Chapter 7 - PATRICIA’S VISITMy mother came to my house six days after the party.
She should not have.
There was no protective order against her yet, but there should have been. She stood on my porch wearing pearls, pressed slacks, and the expression of a woman arriving to correct a mistake made by someone beneath her.
I saw her through the camera before she rang.
James was upstairs with Lily. Melissa and the boys were in the guest room. I opened the door but left the chain locked.
Patricia’s eyes moved to the chain.
“Really, Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“I am your mother.”
“I’m aware.”
She looked smaller outside my house. Less powerful without Gerald’s walls around her.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
Her mouth tightened. “Your father is devastated.”
I said nothing.
“He has barely slept.”
Still nothing.
“You know how he is. He reacts. He comes from a different generation.”
“Lily comes from this one.”
Patricia inhaled sharply. “Do not be clever with me.”
The old Rebecca would have flinched.
I didn’t.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to stop this before it destroys everyone.”
“It already destroyed something.”
“Your father made a mistake.”
“He struck my child with a belt hard enough to send her to the hospital.”
Patricia leaned closer. “And what do you think happens if this goes to trial? Do you think they won’t drag your parenting into it? Do you think they won’t ask why your child felt entitled to take things?”
There it was.
The threat beneath the manners.
I smiled slightly.
It confused her.
“Mom,” I said, “I spent eight years preparing witnesses for cross-examination. I know exactly what defense attorneys ask when they have no real defense.”
Her eyes flashed.
“This arrogance is why your father was always hard on you.”
“No,” I said. “He was hard on me because he enjoyed control.”
She slapped the door.
The sound made me jump despite myself.
From upstairs, Lily cried out.
My mother heard it.
For one second, something almost human crossed her face.
Then it disappeared.
“Tell her Grandma loves her,” she said.
“No.”
Patricia stared at me.
“You don’t get access to the child you blamed while she was bleeding.”
“I said she was rude. I did not hurt her.”
“You excused the person who did.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“To a child, it is.”
Her voice dropped. “You will regret turning your back on family.”
I leaned closer to the gap in the door.
“No, Mom. I regret not doing it sooner.”
Then I closed the door.
My hands shook after.
But I did not cry.
A week earlier, Patricia’s disapproval would have crawled under my skin and stayed there.
Now it only confirmed what I already knew.
Some mothers protect children.
May you like
Some protect monsters.
Mine had made her choice.
