Chapter 31 #2
“I’m sorry,” Abigail whispers, her voice breaking as tears stream down her face. Her hands tremble as she reaches for mine, looking at me with fear and anguish. “I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid of losing you.”
I frown, confusion overtaking me. “What are you talking about?” My voice is calm, but a pit of unease begins to form in my stomach.
She inhales sharply, her shoulders quivering as if she’s bracing against a storm only she can feel.
“I was fourteen, Blair. Just a kid. Stupid, and I thought I was in love. When I found out I was pregnant, I panicked. I couldn’t raise a baby; I was barely more than a child myself.
But the idea of giving you up, of letting you go…
that was unthinkable. So, Mom and Dad, your grandparents, made a decision.
One that I agreed with. They would raise you as theirs.
So you can grow up with everything I couldn’t give you. ”
Her voice cracks like glass under pressure.
“That’s why we grew up as sisters. But I’ve always been your mother, Blair.
I have loved you every second of your life, first as a terrified girl and now as a woman who has carried this secret for far too long.
I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you sooner. ”
I laugh. Or something like it. A brittle, hollow sound that ricochets off the walls. “You almost got me,” I say, shaking my head, trying to outrun the surge of dread pooling in my chest. But she doesn’t laugh. Her eyes meet mine, wide, tearful, imploring, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
“Oh, you’re serious,” I whisper.
The truth hangs in the air like smoke, curling into every corner of my mind, suffocating me.
It explains everything.
The absence of birth videos. The lack of hospital pictures, like there are of Abby’s birth. How she was always the one who tucked me in when I was sick. How she braided my hair for picture day. How she named me. How she held me like I was something breakable, even when I was too old for it.
And the way she looked at me sometimes. Like I was everything.
The floor tilts beneath me. The air feels too thick. My heart beats too loudly. My sister is my mother.
“No,” I whisper. No, no, no. This can’t be real. I grip the couch for balance. Because even though I’m seated, I can’t trust myself not to fall. This has to be some sick dream. I must’ve fallen asleep on the plane; this isn’t real.
“Blair, please… just wait a second,” Abigail breathes, rushing out of the room. She returns a moment later with shaking hands and two photos, yellowed with age. “Here,” she says, voice raw. “This is me. Pregnant with you. And this is us, at the hospital, just after you were born.”
I stare. My hands are trembling as I take the photos.
She’s there. In the first one. So young. So scared. Her stomach round.
And the second, Abby in a hospital gown, cradling a newborn. Me. Her eyes red, her lips smiling in that forced, heart-shattered way only a mother could fake.
Tears burn down my face before I realize they’ve started. I don’t even blink. My world is coming apart at the seams.
Everyone lied to me.
My whole damn family lied to me. They let me believe I was something I wasn’t. And Abby… she held onto this for decades. Let me believe she was just my sister when all this time, she was the one who gave birth to me.
“Say something, please,” she whispers, collapsing to her knees in front of me, her hands clutching mine. “I know this is a lot, but please, Blair… please talk to me.”
But the words don’t come. I can’t speak, I can barely breathe.
I pull my hands away, slowly, and stand. She clutches at the hem of my shirt, but I step back like she’s burned me.
“Blair, no, please don’t go,” she cries, standing up, blocking my way out. “I’ll do anything, just stay, please.”
“Get out of my way.”
She hesitates. Her fingers twitch like she wants to hold on anyway, like letting go will undo everything. But eventually, she steps aside, her shoulders caving inward.
I walk to the door, and her sobs trail after me like ghosts.
I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll fall apart.
Jarad is waiting outside, his face instantly softening with concern when he sees me. “Blair, are you alright?” he asks gently as he opens the car door for me.
“Take me to the penthouse,” I say, my voice barely audible.
“Right away,” he replies, slipping into the driver’s seat. The drive is silent except for my phone’s incessant buzzing as it vibrates with calls from my parents and Abby, but I can’t bear to answer. Each ring feels like a betrayal echoing in my chest.
As we approach the penthouse, Jarad speaks into his earpiece. “Yes, sir. She’s with me,” he says, glancing at me briefly before focusing on the road again. I know he’s talking to Calvin.
Once we arrive, Jarad escorts me inside, his concern evident.
I thank him softly before heading straight for the playroom.
The familiar space, with its warm lighting and soft textures, feels like the only place I can breathe.
I grab my iPad, breaking the no-devices rule, but I don’t care.
I shed my clothes, curl up on the bed, and let the safety of the room envelop me.
I open my design app, forcing myself to focus on something, anything, to distract from the storm raging inside me. Designing Calvin’s outfits seems trivial now, but I need the distraction. My hands tremble as I sketch and my tears fall silently onto the screen.