17. Willow
— ? —
Willow
The doorbell cuts through the silence like a blade.
Corey and I are frozen mid-confrontation, his confession about the stalking still hanging in the air between us like smoke after an explosion.
My throat aches with everything I didn’t get to scream.
His hands are still flat on the counter.
And now someone is at the door, ringing once, twice, three times with the insistent rhythm of someone who expects to be answered.
“Ignore it,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Whoever it is can come back later.”
But Corey is already moving toward the hallway, probably grateful for any excuse to escape the wreckage of our conversation.
I follow him on unsteady legs, my hand braced against the wall of the corridor that leads from my ground-floor room to the foyer.
I hear the front door open. I hear his voice, sharp with surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
And then another voice, one I haven’t heard in five years, smooth as silk and twice as cold, slides through the house like poison gas.
“Is that any way to greet your mother-in-law, Corey? I heard my daughter was unwell. Naturally I came as soon as I could.”
My blood turns to ice.
I round the corner into the foyer and stop dead.
Vivian Ashworth stands on my threshold like she owns the house and everything in it.
She looks exactly the same as she did the last time I saw her, the morning of my wedding, when she told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life and that she wouldn’t be there to watch me destroy myself.
Immaculately dressed in cream silk that probably costs more than most people’s monthly rent.
Blonde hair swept into an elegant chignon without a strand out of place.
Makeup so subtle and perfect it appears natural, the way only very expensive makeup can.
She’s fifty-nine now, but she could pass for forty-five, preserved by money and spite and whatever dark magic keeps women like her looking ageless while the rest of us show every wound on our faces.
Corey has positioned himself in the doorway, his body angled like a shield. Like he’s trying to protect me from the woman who gave birth to me.
“Willow, darling.” Vivian’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It never has. “You look absolutely dreadful. I suppose that’s to be expected, given the circumstances.”
“Mother.” I move to stand beside Corey, presenting a united front even though we were at each other’s throats ninety seconds ago. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I heard you were unwell.” She tilts her head, studying me the way a scientist might study a failed experiment.
“The country club has been positively buzzing with it. Separated from your husband, pregnant with complications, apparently quite ill. You can imagine my surprise when I had to hear about my own daughter’s condition from one of the girls at the club, of all people.
During the spring luncheon. In front of the entire garden committee. ”
“I didn’t tell anyone at the club anything about my life.”
“No, I imagine her housekeeper heard it from your housekeeper, who heard it from the hospital staff, who heard it from, well, it doesn’t matter how information travels, does it?
The point is that it traveled. And here I am.
” She spreads her hands in a gesture of magnanimity that makes my skin crawl.
“Ready to help my only daughter through her time of need.”
“Help.” The word tastes like bile in my mouth.
“Of course. You’re my daughter, Willow. Whatever our differences over the years, you’re still my blood. My flesh.” Her eyes flick briefly to the curve of my belly, and the warmth drains out of them. “My grandchild.”
“You haven’t spoken to me in five years, Mother.
You told me I was dead to you the day I married Corey.
You didn’t come to the wedding. You didn’t call on my birthday, or Christmas, or any other day.
You didn’t reach out when I was hospitalized.
And now you show up unannounced because you heard gossip at your country club? ”
“I’ve reached out plenty of times, darling. You simply chose not to respond.” Her voice is wounded, perfectly calibrated to make me look like the unreasonable one. “I’ve sent letters. Cards. Invitations to family events. All returned unopened.”
The lie is so smooth, so practiced, that for a moment I almost doubt my own memory.
But no, there have been no letters. No cards.
No invitations. Nothing but five years of absolute silence, broken only by the occasional secondhand report from mutual acquaintances about what a disappointment I turned out to be.
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Perhaps we remember things differently.” She dismisses my objection with a wave of her manicured hand. “But that’s all in the past now. What matters is the future. Your future. Your child’s future.” Her eyes cut to Corey, sharp as razors. “And how we’re going to protect both from further damage.”
“Damage.” Corey’s voice is flat, dangerous in a way I’ve rarely heard. “You mean me.”
“I mean the situation.” Vivian’s smile sharpens.
“The separation. The accusations. The very public scene at that charity foundation, yes, I heard about that too. My daughter’s husband brawling like a common thug in front of dozens of witnesses.
There’s video, darling. The club has watched it at brunch.
” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Not exactly the stable home environment one hopes for when bringing a child into the world.”
“Get to the point, Mother.” I’ve moved fully into the foyer now, standing shoulder to shoulder with Corey. “What do you actually want?”
“I want to help you, Willow. I have resources, doctors, connections, people who can ensure you’re properly cared for. I can help you extract yourself from this situation with your dignity and your financial security intact.”
“Extract myself.”
“The divorce is inevitable, isn’t it? Given everything that’s happened.
” Her eyes sweep over Corey with undisguised contempt.
“I always knew he’d show his true colors eventually.
Men from backgrounds like his always do.
The poverty, the dysfunction, the violence, it’s bred into their bones, darling.
No amount of money or success can breed it out.
They can dress it up, hide it for a while, but eventually the mask slips.
And when it does…” She gestures vaguely at the space between Corey and me. “Well. Here we are.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harder than I intend, sharp enough to make her blink. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
Vivian’s eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry?”
“I said don’t. Don’t talk about him like his background makes him less than you. Don’t use his childhood against him like a weapon. Whatever problems Corey and I have, they’re our problems, and they have nothing to do with where he came from.”
My mother’s expression shifts, surprise, maybe, or recalculation. She’s adjusting her approach, revising her strategy on the fly. It’s what she does. It’s what she’s always done.
“You’re absolutely right. I apologize.” The words slide out smooth as butter.
“That was unfair of me. I’m just worried about you, darling.
I’ve been worried for five years, watching from a distance, hoping you’d realize…
” She stops, presses a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “But that’s all in the past. What matters now is moving forward. Getting you the support you need.”
“And what exactly do you think you can offer me that I don’t already have?”
“Stability. A family that will actually be there for you.” She takes a step forward, and Corey moves with her, maintaining the distance between them. She notices and her smile sharpens. “You can call off your guard dog, darling. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Everyone needs help sometimes, Willow. Even stubborn daughters who think they know better than their mothers.” She sighs, long-suffering.
“I have people who can ensure you receive everything you’re entitled to in the divorce, this house, the investments, substantial child support and alimony.
You won’t have to rely on his generosity or negotiate from a position of weakness. ”
“I’m not getting divorced to take his money.”
“No, you’re getting divorced because he doesn’t trust you.
Because he accused you of infidelity and questioned the paternity of your own child.
” Her voice hardens. “Because he chose to believe the worst about you instead of the best. And men like that, men who can’t trust, who let their fears become weapons, they don’t change, darling. They just find new ways to hurt you.”
The words hit like blows, each one striking a bruise that’s already tender. Because she’s not wrong. Corey did all of those things. He did accuse me, did question me, did let his fears become weapons that tore our marriage apart.
But hearing her say it, hearing her use his failings as ammunition in whatever game she’s playing, makes me want to defend him. Makes me want to stand between him and her disapproval the way I’ve been standing between him and mine.
“You don’t know anything about our marriage, Mother. You haven’t been part of my life for five years.”
“By your choice, darling. Not mine.”
“By YOUR ultimatum. You told me to choose, you or him. And when I chose him, you cut me off. You made me pick between my family and my husband, and then you punished me for not choosing you.”