Chapter Thirteen
Claire
I added the numbers until they stopped looking like numbers, hoping the totals would lose their meaning and give me something—anything—different.
But the bills sat in a neat stack, promises to pay and final notices like ugly confetti.
My hands shook. My eyes burned.
The apartment felt too quiet with Michael at school and Mom at her appointment.
I filled out another online job application.
I didn’t have time to lose it.
And I definitely didn’t have time for Jen, who slammed the door and waltzed in with an entitled smile, spinning through my storm like it didn’t even exist.
“I need a new bag,” Jen announced, her eyes glued to her phone as she flopped onto the couch.
I watched her, stunned by how unaffected she was by everything that felt so impossible to me.
Words caught in my throat.
“Did you hear me?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“My bag’s ruined. I need a new one.”
I set the papers down, swallowing the frustration that clawed up my chest. “Jen,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can it wait?”
She looked up then, eyebrows raised, like I’d spoken another language.
“Oh my god, you’re not still crying about that job, are you? I thought you’d be over it by now.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
How was I supposed to explain it?
The numbers. The bills.
The job I’d lost because I refused to lose myself, and the safety net I thought I’d have with Alexander torn to shreds.
I exhaled slowly, feeling my pulse in my throat.
“I’m not crying, Jen. I’m just trying to figure out how to make this work.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s really not that hard, Claire. You’ve done it before. I’m sure you’ll do it again. Like, find some rich guy to take care of you again, or whatever.”
I clenched my jaw.
If she’d arrived five minutes earlier, she would have seen me sobbing over the latest final notice.
If she’d arrived five minutes later, she would have seen me frantically applying for another position—any position—to keep us afloat.
But she’d arrived just in time to demand more, more, more.
“We’re barely keeping up with rent,” I said.
It was a lie. We were so far behind I had to figure out how to juggle things just to keep our heads above water.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of bills to cover.”
She blinked at me, bored.
“And a new bag,” she said.
“I don’t care if you have to sell a kidney to get it. Just do it before everyone turns me away for not being properly attired.”
I felt something snap, like a thread pulled too tight.
A bag. She cared about a bag.
“Are you kidding me?” I said, surprised at the sharpness of my own voice.
I wasn’t the sister who told her off.
I wasn’t the sister who fought back.
But suddenly, I was.
Jen stared at me, her phone paused mid-scroll.
“Wow, what crawled up your—”
“I’m tired of you using me,” I cut her off.
My words shot out, harsh and hot, like they’d been waiting to escape all along.
“We don’t have the money. I don’t have the money. If you want a new bag so badly, get out there and make your own damn money. Maybe go find some rich dude to take care of you or whatever.” I was actually proud at how well I mimicked her voice with that last line.
The room went silent.
I waited for the backlash.
For the explosion of anger, for tears and accusations that would make me feel like a monster for finally saying no.
But they didn’t come.
Not the way I expected.
Jen looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something shift in her expression.
Confusion. Maybe even concern.
But then, something crueler.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice too light, too entertained by the idea.
“You and Alexander. That’s why you’re such a freaking mess. He finally got tired of you.”
I felt the world tilt beneath me, and my stomach twisted like I was about to hurl all over her and her broken bag.
He’d given up. Let me go home like a returned purchase, like he’d planned all along.
It stung more than I wanted to admit, even to myself.
My silence gave her the answer she wanted.
She leaned back, a grin spreading across her face like she’d just been handed the winning lottery ticket.
“Wow,” she said, drawing the word out.
“I didn’t think you’d actually lose everything. This is a new low for you, Claire.”
“Shut up, Jen,” I said, but the fight was already draining from my voice.
She laughed, light and airy, like this was the most fun she’d had in ages.
Like she hadn’t just gutted me and left me fighting back tears.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, her tone shifting from cruel to sweet.
“That man of yours? Totally fair game now, right?”
I froze.
The threat in her words landed hard.
My lips moved, but nothing came out.
“Looks like I’m free to win him over myself,” Jen sang, her voice taunting and sure.
“I’ll probably have that new purse by the end of the day.”
I stared at her, speechless, as she did her best catwalk toward the door.
As the door slammed behind her, I let out a slow, shaky, painful breath.
Lowering my head to the little desk covered in bills and notices, along with my laptop, I tried to figure things out.
I worried she’d walk back in.
But she wouldn’t.
She’d gotten what she wanted and left me with everything I never wanted to feel.
Panic. Rage. Helplessness.
And worst of all, the certainty that she was right.
Alexander, my hasty escape—it was all rushing back, and I could barely breathe.
I had to do something, anything, but the room started to spin, the edges of my vision closing in until all I could do was sit there, choking on everything, doing nothing, and feeling it swallow me whole.
Jen, like Alexander, were just behaving as they always did.
I was the stupid one for thinking things could be different.
My sister would never change.
Alexander would never love me.
I was a pawn to both of them in different ways.
A sharp laugh escaped me as I thought about how he’d been “so proud” of me for standing up to her.
Yeah, right. What a load of BS.
Lifting my head, I tried to shut them out and look at the page I’d filled out.
But it blurred in front of me, my hands shaking as I held them above the keys.
Why had I even tried?
The escape to my old life felt so sure at the time, like I could pick up the pieces and make something of them.
But I should have known better.
My pulse thudded in my ears, a fast, erratic beat that kept getting louder.
Jen’s laugh. Her words.
The way she mocked me, knowing I wouldn’t fight back.
She left me with the truth.
That I lost him.
That I couldn’t hold on to anything.
That no matter what, I was doomed to fail.
And I sat there, my vision going dark, and I thought I’d break apart from how much it hurt to feel so damn powerless and broken.
I squeezed my eyes shut, choking back a sob.
I was better than this.
I was stronger. But the lies I told myself felt thin as tissue paper, tearing under the strain of holding everything inside.
And the tears came, like a garden hose someone forgot to turn off.
“Claire, honey?” My mother’s voice, just inches away, made me jerk upright.
I hadn’t heard her come in.
Her footsteps were soft as she moved across the room, her eyes filling with worry as she took me in.
She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.
The effort to hold everything back made my body tense, rigid.
I couldn’t let her see.
I wouldn’t let her see.
I pushed the stack of papers to the side, forcing myself to breathe through the panic as she crossed to me.
“How did it go at the doctor?” I asked, my voice thin, threatening to break with the tears I couldn’t quite hide.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said, her eyes softening in a way that was harder to ignore than any number of bills or Jen’s cruelty.
She reached out, a quick but gentle touch, her warmth so close that I could feel it.
“What’s wrong? You look—”
“Fine,” I said, but the word was too fast, too harsh, and I knew she’d see right through it.
I leaned back, trying to mask the ache that spread through me.
She had enough to deal with, and I wouldn’t be another burden.
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
I waited for her to buy it.
To accept my lie and move on like I knew she needed to.
But my mother wasn’t Jen.
She wasn’t Alexander.
She didn’t back away or leave me to figure it out alone.
Her eyes dropped to my hands, still holding the edge of the table too tightly, white-knuckled and desperate.
“Claire.”
One short word.
My name, but more than my name.
I tried so hard to hold back, to keep myself from breaking.
I should have known it wouldn’t work.
Her expression softened.
The same tenderness she’d shown me as a kid when I came home in tears, the same resolve to make everything better no matter how hopeless it felt.
She knew. She always knew.
“Sweetheart, it’s not fine.” She reached out again, but I pulled away.
If she hugged me right now, I’d lose it.
I’d start bawling and maybe never stop.
I couldn’t do that, not when I had so much to do.
The force of her care was a hit I didn’t know if I could survive.
“Don’t,” I whispered, but my voice wavered.
I pulled away too slowly, and she saw.
She always saw.
Her fingers found mine, the gentle contact empowering the tears to nearly fall as I blinked them back.
And this time, I couldn’t pull away.
I didn’t pull away.
She held on, firmer, tighter, and all the tension I’d fought to contain broke loose with the impact of her touch.
I let her pull me to my feet with minimal fuss and her warmth seeped into my hands, my bones, my heart.
And it all fell apart, all at once, under the weight of her love.
My shoulders slumped forward, the strength I’d clung to slipping from my grasp like water through a sieve.
My breath caught in my chest, causing so much pain I couldn’t inhale, and I couldn’t stop it.
I didn’t want to stop it.
I was crying, the sound breaking through the apartment, and my mother was there, pulling me closer.
It was like being eight years old again, when Dad left and I thought it was my fault, when she told me he hadn’t really gone, just like she told me I hadn’t really lost Alexander.
Her arms wrapped around me, her body shielding mine from the storm I couldn’t face alone.
I felt her hand on my back, slow and steady, her touch the only constant in a life that felt like it was always somehow spinning out of control.
The tears came harder.
She didn’t let go. Her grip was unwavering.
Like I wasn’t just her daughter—I was her everything.
And as much as I wanted to deny it, as much as I wanted to pretend I could make it without breaking, her embrace was exactly what I needed, even if I hadn’t known it before.
I held on, letting the pain out until it naturally eased like my tears had taken it with.
“Shh, shh,” she murmured, the sound a soothing lull that quieted my racing thoughts and slowed the frantic thud of my heart.
“No matter what happens, Claire, I love you. Above all else, I love you.”
That hurt more.
How did I tell her I didn’t know how to save her home, how to keep Michael in school?
That I felt I’d been selfish and made a decision for me instead of the good of my family.
That I’d, in essence, betrayed them?
Her love surrounded me, held me up, held me together.
I didn’t want to need it, but I did.
More than anything. Internally, I swore to myself that I would figure things out.
There was no other option.
I’d get three jobs. Sleep four hours a night and more on days I only worked two jobs.
I’d do this.
I had to.
When I was too exhausted to feel anything else, the apartment was quiet, filled with my mother’s love and my fresh resolve.
Still, I was so worn out that even my thoughts came in fragments.
Exhausted. Heavy. Still.
It was almost enough to numb me into sleep, but then my phone buzzed with an email, and I fumbled for it, hoping I’d landed a job.
My heart stopped. Alexander.
A new account in my name.
The number in said account was clear; he sent the money.
All of it and then some.
No doubt a tip for my exemplary behavior.
My vision blurred, and I could feel my heart break again.
It was all he’d promised.
A promise I’d broken when I up and left.
Walked out like the coward I am.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
The rest of the world dropped away, and I was left with the cold, impersonal confirmation of everything I was too afraid to admit.
It was over. Our “transaction” was complete.
He didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
My hands shook. My chest tightened.
And before I could stop it, before I could hold on, tears were streaming down my cheeks again.
And this time, it would take more than my mother’s hug to fix things.
I never mattered to him at all.
It was just business.
And this was the proof.
The emptiness settled in.
The tightness of my mother’s embrace was still fresh in my mind, a warmth that only made the coldness of his gesture more devastating.
Without a single doubt.
How had I let myself believe it was anything more?
He was right, I was naive.
The tears started again, hot and unwelcome, sliding down my face as I stared at the harsh digits on the screen.
My vision blurred, but it wasn’t enough to hide the reality.
It was always temporary, always something to end.
Neat. Efficient. A checkmark in a to-do list, an item crossed off without thought or care.
And now?
Now I was alone.
Truly, unbearably alone.
I sank down, wrapping my arms around myself in the silence of the house, my tears soaking mom’s favorite throw pillow.
He’d given me everything he promised.
So why was I still crying?