Chapter 31
The next morning, sunlight streams through the sheer curtains of my old bedroom, warming the space and pulling me from sleep. I stretch, relishing the comfort of being back home, when the scent of something delicious drifts upstairs. My stomach growls, spurring me to get up.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom greets me with her usual cheer, standing at the stove with a spatula in hand. She’s flipping pancakes onto a plate, her apron dusted with flour.
“Morning, Mom,” I say, grinning as I grab a plate. “It smells incredible in here.” Without waiting, I start piling pancakes, eggs, and sausages onto my plate, already anticipating how good it’ll taste.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask between bites, not bothering to sit down yet.
“It’s Saturday, so he’s out fishing with his friends,” she says, smiling as she glances over her shoulder.
“Oh, right,” I mumble, already halfway through a mouthful of fluffy pancakes. The buttery sweetness melts on my tongue.
“Slow down before you choke,” she laughs, shaking her head as she sets a glass of apple juice in front of me. I take a grateful sip, the cool tartness washing everything down.
For a moment, the kitchen is peaceful, just the two of us, until I notice a shift. She lowers the spatula and looks at me with that mom gaze that sees through everything. “So,” she starts, her voice casual but pointed, “what’s going on with your sister and Calvin?”
The question makes me freeze mid-bite. I feel my throat tighten. “Oh, wow, look at the time,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I should get ready…” I try to make my escape, heading for the stairs with my plate still in hand.
“Blair Witherspoon Miller.” Her voice stops me in my tracks, the full mom tone that brooks no argument. I turn slowly, knowing I’m caught. With a sigh, I sink back into my chair, setting the plate down in defeat.
She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. “What is going on with you and your sister? You’ve been acting strange for weeks now, and your dad and I are worried about Abigail.”
I pick at the edge of my pancake, trying to stall. How do I even begin to explain this mess? Instead of answering, I shove a big piece into my mouth, mumbling, “Hmm, hmmm,” as I chew. Maybe I can hold her off for a little longer.
But my mom isn’t so easily deterred. She grabs a napkin and holds it out with a raised brow. “Spit it out.”
I hesitate, but the look she gives me says she means business. Reluctantly, I give up my pancake barricade. She tosses the napkin in the trash and turns back to me. “Now, start talking.”
“Mom,” I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know… It’s not really my place to say.”
Her brows knit together in concern. “Are you and your sister fighting? Is that why you left so suddenly, using your scholarship as an excuse?” Her eyes search mine, and I bite my lip, feeling the weight of her worry.
“I’ll fix it today,” I promise, avoiding her gaze. “Whatever happened between us, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“What happened?” she presses. “Is this about Calvin?”
The mention of his name sends heat rushing to my cheeks. I look away, but my blush gives me away. Her eyes widen slightly, and this may just be my paranoia, but she looks utterly disgusted with me. “Oh, sweetheart…”
I can’t take the weight of her gaze anymore. I push back from the table, grabbing my plate. “I really have to go, Mom. Thanks for breakfast.” My words come out rushed as I head for the staircase, hoping to escape before she asks anything more.
“Blair, wait,” she starts, but I’m already halfway up the stairs, clutching my plate like a lifeline.
Mom knows. She doesn’t have all the details yet, but she knows enough to put the pieces together. The weight of that realization presses down on me. How am I going to explain this? What can I possibly say that won’t make things worse?
Once I reach my room, I shut the door and lock it behind me, needing the safety of solitude.
I sink into my chair, grabbing my iPad in a desperate attempt to steady my nerves.
Drawing has always been my escape, a way to drown out the chaos in my head.
Hours pass in a blur as I lose myself in the flow of pencil strokes, shading, and blending until my mind feels a fraction calmer.
The spell breaks when my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen to see a message from Jarad: I’m outside. It’s time. My stomach churns as I grab my bag and sneak downstairs, careful not to make a sound.
I slide into the back seat of the car without a word. The city blurs past the window until we pull up in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Its pristine facade gleams in the afternoon light, and I feel my nerves spike again.
As I step out, I hesitate, staring up at the building’s imposing glass exterior. My reflection stares back at me, fractured by the panels, like a distorted version of myself.
My mind spirals.
I don’t want to lose my sister. But does that mean I’m willing to let go of Calvin if it comes down to it?
What if she tells me she loves him? What if she looks me in the eye and says I can’t have him?
Could I accept that? Could I walk away and live without him?
Bile threatens to rise at the mere thought, my stomach twisting painfully. The idea of losing Calvin, of pretending what we have doesn’t exist, feels unbearable. Yet so does the thought of hurting Abigail.
For the first time, I don’t know which heartbreak would destroy me more.
By the time I reach her floor, I’m barely holding it together. Apartment 209 looms before me, the number etched in shiny brass. My palms are damp, my heart thundering in my chest. I raise my hand to knock, but before my knuckles make contact, the door swings open.
“My baby!” Abigail’s voice is warm and welcoming, and before I can say a word, she pulls me into a tight embrace. I melt into her hug.
“Hi, Abby,” I manage, a genuine smile somehow breaking through.
“Come in,” she says, stepping back and motioning for me to enter.
I follow her into the apartment, my anxiety momentarily replaced by awe.
The living room is spacious and bright, with high ceilings and chic, minimalist decor.
The open floor plan makes it feel even bigger, and sunlight pours through floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Wow, Abby, this place is stunning,” I say, taking it all in. It’s a far cry from the cramped, rundown apartment I have in Paris.
“It’s no penthouse,” she says with a modest shrug, “but it’s what I could afford.”
“Stop, Abby. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I’m so proud of you,” I tell her, meaning every word.
“Thanks, hon.” She beams, and the warmth in her smile fills the room. “Come sit. I made PB&J,” she says, holding up a plate of neatly cut sandwiches.
I blink, surprised but touched. PB&J is a tradition for us, a balm for life’s worst moments. When I was sick or heartbroken, Abby would always make me a PB&J, sitting with me and holding me while I cried until the world felt a little less heavy.
“Thank you, Abby,” I say with a soft smile. But after a few seconds of lingering silence, I shift uncomfortably and decide to break it. “So…”
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she says, cutting me off. Her hands find mine. “I shouldn’t have done it. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”
I pause, letting the apology settle between us.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I say slowly.
“But it still hurt. You and Calvin both kept me in the dark. I spent so many nights beating myself up, thinking I was this awful person who slept with your fiancé. Because that’s what I thought he was, to you.
And even then, I tried to stay away. I really did. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry too.”
I pause, the question burning in my chest. “I get why you lied to Mom and Dad… but why me? Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I wouldn’t keep your secret?”
Her gaze drops, shame thick in the silence between us. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… I wanted you to be proud of me.”
The words land hard, like a punch to the heart. “Abby…” I tighten my grip on her hands. “You are my role model. I’ve always been proud of you, before Calvin ever even came into the picture.”
Tears slip down her cheeks as she leans in, wrapping her arms around me, holding me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You have no idea what it means to hear that,” she whispers.
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “I mean it. I love you, Abby. No amount of money, success, or mistakes could ever change that. I hope you really, truly know that.”
She nods, though her voice wavers. “I know.”
I smile gently, squeezing her hands again. “So, are we good? You’re not mad?”
She chuckles softly, wiping at her cheeks. “No, sweetie, I’m not mad. I mean, it’s really weird to hear my kid is sleeping with someone I was pretending to be engaged with…”
I let out a short laugh despite myself. “Abby, I am your kid sister,” I tease, shaking my head.
“I know you’ve always treated me like a child because of the age difference, but I’m not a baby anymore.
Anyway, Calvin asked me to give you this.
” I reach into my bag and pull out the check, extending it toward her.
Her eyes widen as she takes it, and she gasps audibly. “This is a million-dollar check,” she says.
“Yep,” I reply. “He said it’s what you’re owed.”
She stares at it, a storm of emotions flickering across her face. “I can’t accept this… I want to, believe me, I do, but I’ve already taken enough from you.”
I frown, confused. “What are you talking about? Abby, this isn’t from me, it’s from Calvin.”
She shakes her head, pushing the check back into my hands. “I know, but I can’t. I haven’t been a good… a good mom to you. And I think it’s time I start being one.”
Her words throw me off completely, and I can’t help but laugh, a genuine, startled laugh that escapes before I can stop it. “Abby, what are you talking about?”