Chapter 85
Damien
Play - Biblical Love by Flower Face
I’m stronger than that
The folder is in her hands when I turn around.
For a second, my brain refuses to process it. She’s barefoot, wrapped in my shirt, eyes too bright, too empty. She looks like she walked out of a dream into a crime scene. I hung up on Kyle without a word.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
She stares at the file, then back at me, and something in her face fractures. “You had it,” she says. “You had it this entire time.”
“I took it a few months ago,” I admit. “When I transferred here. It was buried in old archives. I didn’t know she was your mother at first.”
A laugh breaks free from her throat. “But you knew when I told you,” she says. “You knew when I told you I thought she killed herself.”
My jaw tightens. “Yes.”
Her hands shake as she lifts the photo.
“You kissed me,” she says, her voice breaking.
“I told you I thought she chose to die. I told you I hated myself for not stopping her and yet you kissed me.” Her voice rises, it echoes in the house.
“You looked at me like I was something fragile and tragic and you let me believe it. You let me grieve a lie.”
“I did it for you,” I say, and I hate how weak it sounds. “I didn’t want to destroy what little stability you had.”
She steps forward and points a finger at me.
“You don’t get to decide what destroys me, Damien.
Not now, not ever.” Her voice is shaking, but her eyes are clear.
She’s furious. “I’ve been keeping my family alive in my head for years,” she says.
“I’ve carried ghosts, I’ve carried this guilt, I’ve carried that woman with me every day. You think the truth would kill me?”
“I was going to tell you,” I say. “I just needed to be sure—”
“Sure of what?” she snaps. “Sure I wouldn’t break in a way that inconvenienced you?
” She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling fast. “You catalogued my trauma. You studied me like a science project. You decided what I could handle and you still touched me. You still held me like I was yours.”
Her eyes flicker, something wounded but furious underneath.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “You are strong.”
She stares at me, disappointment and confusion all over her face. “But you still lied,” she repeats. She looks at the photo again, then closes the folder. “I told you everything,” she says. “And yet, you kept this from me.”
“Mireya,” I whisper, trying to take a step closer but she shakes her head and stops me.
“I thought my mother killed herself, Damien. Killed. Herself!” she says.
Her voice cracks immediately. “I thought she chose to die.” Her fingers tremble around the photo.
“I thought she chose to leave me,” she repeats, like she needs to hear it again to understand how wrong it was.
“I can’t sleep. Do you know that? I can’t fucking sleep without seeing her face.
I can’t breathe without thinking about her.
Every day I thought it was my fault. Every single day.
” Tears are falling down endlessly with pure horror in her eyes.
“And you had this. You had the only thing that could’ve changed everything. ”
She slams the file against the table. “For what?”
I step forward instinctively. “Listen to m—”
She shoves me away brutally. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Her hands hit my chest hard and I stumbled back a step. “I told you how I felt,” she screams. “I told you I thought she chose to die. And you kissed me. You held me.” Her eyes are red. Tears spill over, but she doesn’t wipe them away.
I hate that she’s feeling betrayed. I hate the way she looks at me and I hate myself even more for doubting her.
She laughs again, hysterical. “I survived him. I survived that house. I survived everything you don’t even know. You think I would die because you told me she was murdered?”
I shake my head, my chest tight. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say.
She slams her palm against her chest. “You think I’m not already hurt? You think I’m some fragile child you need to protect from reality?” Her eyes lock onto mine, furious and emptier than ever. “I’m not your victim. I’m not your case file. I’m not something you manage.”
Her voice breaks into a sob, but she doesn’t stop.
“You underestimated me. You decided for me. You controlled what I knew about my own life.” She steps toward me again, shoving me back. “I can handle the truth. I’ve been handling hell for years.”
I wanted to make sure you weren’t a part of his plan…
Her hands shake as she lifts the photo again. “You kept the only thing that could’ve changed everything. You kept it because you thought you knew better than me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. She wipes her face angrily, furious at the tears.
“I’m strong,” she says, her voice shaking with rage. “I’m strong and you treated me like glass.”
“I…” Nothing comes out again. I don’t know what to say, I got carried away with my own vengeance and old habits. Thinking that being over-protective is a right when I should’ve known not to lose myself in this.
She takes a step back, breathing hard. “You don’t get to protect me like that. You don’t get to decide what breaks me.” Then, quieter, she adds, “But you lied.”
She turns toward the door.
“Wait,” I say, panic clawing up my throat. “Stay. It’s too late, Mireya.”
She spins back, yelling, “Don’t even come near me.” Her hand curls into a fist. “I will fucking punch you in the face if you touch me.”
I freeze. She doesn’t want to talk to me.
She opens the door, and I fight the urge to close it back. She’s strong, and mostly, she’s angry at me. “Text me when you get home,” I say. “So I know you’re safe.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Fuck you.”
“Please,” I say, standing in the doorway but not crossing it. “Just text me. So I know you’re okay.”
But she doesn’t answer. The door shuts. I stand there, staring at the file.
I thought I was protecting her. I realize now I was protecting my idea of her. A fragile narrative I built because it made me feel in control.
She wasn’t fragile. She was forged.
And I treated her like something that would shatter if I spoke.