Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Lettie
The farmhouse looked smaller than before. I stood on the porch with Cerberus at my side, watching the headlights slice through the dusk. Two motorcycles. Rykard and Apollo behind them in a truck with my mother in the back seat.
I still saw her as my mother. Despite the years of abuse and neglect. Despite the fact that I now knew she had stolen me from my family.
She was still the woman who raised me.
My hands were steady. That surprised me.
Everything else felt like it was vibrating at a frequency just below visible. My bones, my blood, the air in my lungs. Everything trembled but my hands.
The truck stopped first. Rykard climbed out of the driver’s side.
He looked older than he had at the festival, worn down and hollowed out.
He helped Apollo into his wheelchair first, working with ease.
Apollo’s face was pale, his hands gripping the wheels too tight as he settled into the chair.
Then Rykard moved to the back door and opened it.
My mother sat in the backseat, staring straight ahead. Not moving.
I walked down the steps. Cerberus stayed at my heel. Silent. Watchful.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Rykard nodded. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me directly.
Just opened the back door so Mother could step out.
She moved like someone sleepwalking. Her steps were mechanical, distant.
Her eyes found mine. For a second, I thought she might say something.
Apologize. Beg. Explain. But she just stood there.
“Come on,” I said.
I turned and walked back toward the house. Heard her footsteps behind me. Slow. Hesitant. Apollo’s wheelchair rolled closer. “Lettie—”
“Not yet,” I said without looking back. “Please.”
He stopped.
I opened the door and held it, waiting for her to step inside. Cerberus followed us in, and the door closed behind us with a soft click. The house smelled like lavender and rosemary. Like home. Except it wasn’t.
“Your room,” I said.
She looked at me. Her mouth opened, then closed.
“Go.”
She walked down the hallway, and I followed.
Cerberus stayed between us. The den was exactly as she’d left it.
Recliner in the center, side table with her water glass and remote.
Her blanket folded over the armrest. Her sanctuary.
The place where she’d spent years pretending.
She sat down slowly, pulled the lever, and let the chair recline.
I stood in the doorway.
“Why?” I asked.
Her hands folded in her lap. “Violet—”
“Don’t call me that.”
She flinched.
“Why did you take me?”
Silence.
I stepped into the room. Cerberus moved with me, his eyes never leaving her.
“I asked you a question.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth.” My voice was calm. Clinical. “That’s all I want.”
She looked at the ceiling. At the walls. Anywhere but at me.
“They’re waiting outside,” I said. “The club. Rykard. Apollo. Brock. All of them.”
Her head snapped toward me.
“They want answers,” I continued. “They want to know what you did. Why you did it. And they’re not going to be as patient as I am.”
Her breathing quickened.
“But if you tell me the truth, if you tell me everything—” I paused, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “I’ll protect you.” I moved closer and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I can.”
She stared at me, searching my face for something. A lie. A trick. I gave her nothing.
“Zander’s dead,” I said.
The color drained from her face.
“He tried to use me as bait. Tried to destroy the club. Tried to kill Brock.” I leaned forward. “He’s not coming to save you. No one is. It’s just you and me now.”
Her hands started shaking.
“So tell me,” I said. “Why did you take me?”
The silence stretched between us. Then she broke.
“I couldn’t have children.” Her voice was small. Broken. “I tried for years. Doctors. Treatments. Nothing worked.” She looked down at her hands. “Your mother, Colette’s mother—she had two. Apollo and you. And she was so young. So careless. She didn’t appreciate what she had.”
My stomach twisted.
“I was her best friend,” Claire continued. “I was there when you were born. I held you. Fed you. Watched you while she slept.” Her voice cracked. “And I thought... I thought if I just had one. Just one child. I could be happy.”
“So you stole me.”
“I saved you.” Her eyes snapped up, defensive. “She didn’t deserve you. She didn’t know how to love you the way I could.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“I gave you a life!” Her voice rose. “I fed you. Clothed you. Kept you safe. I was your mother in every way that mattered.”
“Except the truth.”
She looked away.
“You lied to me every single day,” I said. “You let me believe I was yours. That I belonged to you. That this was my life.”
“It was your life.”
“No.” I stood. “It was the life you stole for me.”
“I loved you.”
“You loved the idea of me.” My voice stayed even. Controlled. “You loved having something that belonged to you. But you didn’t love me. You couldn’t. Because you never let me be real.”
She started crying.
I watched and felt nothing.
“What about Zander?” I asked.
She wiped her eyes. Her hands were shaking. “I met him after we moved here. To Athens. He was just... he was kind to me. Paid attention.” Her voice dropped to something small. Ashamed. “I was so lonely, Lettie. So tired. And he made me feel like I mattered.”
“How long?”
“Years. I met him during Harvest Week that first year. Then every year, always during the festival. He’d talk to me. Ask about you. About our life.” She looked down at her hands. “I thought he cared. I thought he was just... a friend.”
“A friend.”
“I didn’t know!” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. I was stupid. Na?ve. He made me feel seen and I—” She broke off. “I never asked questions. I should have. But I didn’t want to lose the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”
I stared at her. This woman who’d stolen my entire life. Who’d made me feel like a burden while I learned to garden and cook and survive on my own.
“I’ll go make your tea,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Your tea.” I turned toward the door. “You always have tea before bed.”
“Lettie—”
“I’ll be right back.”
I walked out of the room. Cerberus followed. The hallway felt longer than it should have. The kitchen was dark except for the light over the stove. Brock stood by the counter, arms crossed, watching me.
“Well?” he asked.
I moved to the stove, filling the kettle and setting it on the burner. “She took me because she couldn’t have children,” I said. My voice was flat. Mechanical. “She thought my mother didn’t deserve me. Thought she could love me better.”
“And Zander?” Brock’s tone was careful.
I turned the burner on. Watched the flame catch. “Just a man who showed up every year and paid attention to her. Made her feel like she mattered.” My voice stayed clinical. Detached.
Brock didn’t interrupt.
“She was lonely. Invisible. He made her feel seen.” I pulled a mug from the cabinet. “She didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know about his connections or what he wanted from her. She was na?ve enough to think he actually cared.”
I opened the drawer and found the tea bags. Chamomile. Her favorite.
“He used her loneliness to get information. But she didn’t knowingly help him. She didn’t understand what she was giving him or why it mattered.”
“She was a tool,” Brock said quietly.
“Yes. But she didn’t know it.”
The kettle started to whistle. I turned off the burner and poured the water into the mug, watching the steam rise. I reached into the cabinet and pulled down the small jar, staring at it for just a moment before I unscrewed the cap and used the spoon to stir the powder into the hot water.
Too little and she’ll just be irritable.
Too much and she won’t wake up.
I added enough sugar to mask the taste, then grabbed the packet of cookies and laid them out on the tray.
Brock watched me the entire time. He didn’t speak. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t look away.
I picked up the tray and walked back down the hallway, Cerberus at my side. Claire was still in her recliner. Eyes closed. Hands folded.
That was who she was now.
Claire Morrison.
My mother’s best friend. The woman who crept into a sleeping house and stole a baby.
“Here,” I said.
She opened her eyes and looked at the mug.
“Thank you, dear.”
The word hit me like a fist. Dear. She only ever called me that during this time of year. I set the mug on the side table and sat on the edge of the coffee table.
“I need you to know something,” I said.
She looked at me.
“I don’t forgive you.”
Her face crumpled.
“But I understand why you did it.” I reached out and touched her hand. “You were broken. And you thought taking me would fix you.”
“Lettie—”
“It didn’t.” I squeezed her hand gently. “It just broke me too.”
She started crying again.
I stood.
“Drink your tea,” I said. “It’ll help you sleep.”
She reached for the mug with shaking hands. I watched her take the first sip. Then the second.
“I’m going to the clubhouse to get to know my father and my brother. Goodbye, Mom.”
The word felt strange. Final. She looked up at me, eyes wide.
I turned and walked out of the room. Cerberus followed, and I didn’t look back.
In the kitchen, Brock was waiting.
“I want to go to the clubhouse,” I said.
He straightened. “Now?”
“Now.” I met his eyes. “I want to officially meet my father, meet my brother. I want to—” My voice cracked. “I want to start over.”
“Lettie—”
“Please.”
He studied my face. “If we leave her, she’ll run.”
I smiled. It felt sad. Tired. True.
“No,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “She won’t.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes.
“She’s not going anywhere,” I continued. “Ever again.”
He didn’t ask. Didn’t need to. He just pulled me into his arms and held me while I finally let myself break. Cerberus pressed against my legs.
For the first time in twenty-five years, there was a flicker of remorse in what I’d done. But at the same time, I felt like I could finally breathe.