Chapter 42 Lex #2
“I am your mother .” She slams a flat palm to her chest. “I’m the one who gave you all this.
” Both arms wave around the condominium like she’s presenting a kingdom built with her bare hands.
“And I am sick and tired of you shitting on your good fortune while anyone else with a semblance of self-respect would kill to have the gifts you’ve been given. ”
My eyes flare with rocket fire. “Gifts,” I echo, swallowing hard.
I think about Stevie, about the only true gift that has ever come from the destruction my mother handed me on a silver platter and told me to eat up.
“You tore apart the only gift I had. Made her believe she was worthless, nothing but shit on the bottom of your shoe. And I did nothing to stop it.”
“Your little girlfriend has nothing to do with this.”
“She has everything to do with this,” I counter, breathing hellfire.
“When you allowed a monster who called himself my father to beat us black and blue because he was rich and powerful and important, that girl put her entire future on the line to try and protect me from both of you.” I spew the words through my teeth like glass shards, my chest heaving.
“When my mother was doing everything she could to toss me back into the pits of depravity, that girl was there, holding my hand, telling me I was a star—and not because I was on TV, not because I came from privilege and wealth, but because I was me . ” My voice shakes, my wounds raw and exposed.
“She saw me . The person behind all the things you paraded around like a trophy.”
Jesus Christ.
It all makes sense.
My mind clears, the pieces falling into place.
I had my true gift. My peace. My happy ending.
And I sent her away.
For this.
My mother’s arms drop at her sides. “That girl has never been any good for you. She was only dragging you down,” she throws back, her cheeks reddening. “I gave you the world. Me . You just can’t see it.”
“You took my world. Flipped it upside down and nearly sent me to an early grave.”
Mom’s eyes round. She stares at me, choking on my truth. “Don’t you dare say that.”
It’s true.
It’s heartbreakingly true.
My chest tightens as memories flood back—long, troubled nights spent staring at the ceiling, awake and alone, drowning in silence and wondering if it would ever change.
There were times I almost gave up, wanted to end it all, because I couldn’t see past the hollow, empty void that had become my life. I would have welcomed a deadly fist to my head by my soulless father, just to put me out of my misery.
What was the point?
I had everything, and I felt nothing.
I was a fraud.
Upholstered skin and a rubber heart, my smile always full of holes.
If it wasn’t for Stevie—if I hadn’t had her to cling to, even when she was hundreds of miles away—I don’t know if I’d be here right now.
The notion is staggering.
My mother’s eyes glaze over, her face twisting with realization. “Lexington,” she murmurs. “I only wanted the best for you. You have to believe that.”
“You wanted the best for you. That’s not how love works.”
The damage is laid out in piles of shrapnel and waste between us, too much to sift through to find a shred of recovery. And as I stare back at the woman who brought me into this world, I realize I no longer want her to be a part of mine.
I’m done.
I should have been done a long time ago.
Gravel coats my words as I take a step forward and meet her eyes. “I want you to get out. Lose my number. Leave your key to my condo, and never contact me again.”
She gapes at me, mouth hitched with horror. “Sweetheart…no. Think about what you’re saying.”
“I am thinking. For once in my goddamn life, I’m thinking clearly,” I say, steeling my voice into resolve.
“You taught me how to be afraid of love. That survival meant wearing a mask, smiling through the pain, and never, ever letting anyone see what’s real.
You taught me how to close off my heart, made me believe love was something I had to earn, not something that should have been freely given.
” Emotion carves itself into every word.
“And I hope every time you close your eyes, you remember that. I hope it haunts you, knowing that all I ever needed from you was the one thing you could never give me.”
Real, unconditional love.
Her breath stutters, and for a split second, I see her flinch, awareness brightening her eyes. It slams into her—the lies, the guilt trips, the false promises, the manipulation, the exploitation. Everything she set in motion for her own corrupt version of the greater good.
The roles she cast me in, the lines she fed me.
Her self-serving script.
Tears carve inky lines down her face.
She knows I’m serious.
My mother bites her lip, nods, and slowly moves to the front door. Hesitating, she sets a silver key on the side table before glancing my way. “I love you,” she whispers, swiping mascara tracks off her face.
Her words are a cold, numbing heartbreak. Rubber cement drying in my chest.
And for the first time, I don’t say the two words I’ve always said.
I say the two words I really mean.
“Not enough.”
That’s the hardest part.
Her love for me was always secondary.
There was a time when I believed hearing her say “I love you” could mend every bruise and scar, that it could bridge the gaps and heal the wounds. But it was just a bandage over a wound that kept on bleeding until the truth bled right through—the truth that real love isn’t just a phrase.
It’s action. It’s character.
It’s meaning.
It’s…her.
Stevie.
My eyes pan to the enormous window overlooking the city. I stare out at the skyscrapers, the dazzling lights, the sun-kissed sky, as my mother’s footfalls grow farther away and the front door creaks open, then softly closes.
The gnawing quiet settles around me, and for the very first time, I imagine a future not dictated by past failures and unspoken regrets. The idea of possibility takes root as I envision rewriting the ending of my own story, choosing what I want over what I fear.
I’ve always had the power.
I just never knew what to do with it.
Closing my eyes, I collapse onto the couch and think about what Willa told me yesterday.
The title of the show, of our tragic love song, always made me feel— Come What May .
It made me think of her, of that high school auditorium, of her laughter and smile and songful voice.
But then I took all the things that made me human and buried them inside the pages of streaky ink and broken thoughts.
I didn’t want it. I didn’t want the open wounds to fester and spread.
Feelings felt like a curse, a disease with no cure.
But when you really break it down, I think that’s what life is all about.
Feeling.
Feeling everything: joy, heartbreak, grief, loss, friendship, and passion. Feelings aren’t a burden, no matter how much they hurt. They’re a privilege.
To feel is life’s greatest honor.
And I know now, the source of all of it…is love.