Chapter Holly
HOLLY
I was helping Jenna close up the bakery when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I thought maybe it was Aunt Elyse asking if I wanted her to pick up anything for dinner. Or maybe Uncle Drew sending another terrible dad joke that would make me groan and laugh at the same time.
But when I pulled out my phone, the name on the screen made my heart stutter.
Mom.
Three months and seventeen days of silence, and then, out of nowhere: a text message. She'd somehow managed to text my grandparents, but my texts had remained unanswered. Until then.
My hands started shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
"Holly? You okay?" Jenna's voice seemed to come from very far away, though she was standing right beside me, wiping down the stainless steel counter.
"Fine," I said automatically, my eyes fixed on the notification. "Just... need to check something."
I retreated to the small break room, sinking onto a chair, my thumb hovering over the message.
Part of me wanted to delete it unread. Another part wanted to call Aunt Elyse immediately.
But the largest part—the part that would always be a daughter hoping for her mother's love—needed to see what it said.
I opened the message.
Mom: Hey baby girl. Miss you so much. Things are looking up. I'm in the area and want to see you this wknd. Can you meet me at the pier Sat?
Mom: Don't tell your aunt.
My breath caught in my throat. New place. Things are looking up. The same promises she'd made a dozen times before.
And that last line: Don't tell your aunt.
A red flag so big it might as well have been a billboard. Mom had always operated in secrets—things Grandma and Grandpa couldn't know, things teachers couldn't know, things I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Secrets were her currency, her shield, her weapon.
I read the message again, searching for some hint of genuine change. Was her writing clearer than usual? Were there fewer typos? Any indication that this time might actually be different?
But all I found was the same old pattern wrapped in new words. The vague "things are looking up" without specifics. The request for secrecy. The assumption that I'd drop everything and run to her, no questions asked.
Three months ago, I probably would have. Three months ago, I was still the girl who waited by the phone, who made excuses, who believed "this time" would be different.
But I wasn't that girl anymore, and my future was brighter than ever there with Aunt 'Lyse and Uncle Drew.
I set the phone down on the table, needing physical distance from it while I thought. Through the small window in the break room door, I could see Jenna humming to herself as she restocked supplies for tomorrow's baking. Normal. Steady. Present.
My life had developed a rhythm these past weeks, between the bakery, photography class, dinner with Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew, and movie nights with Eden sprawled across all our laps. No crises. No disappearances. No walking on eggshells.
The contrast was startling.
I picked up the phone again, rereading the message with clearer eyes.
"Got a new place" likely meant she'd found someone willing to let her crash for a while.
"Things are looking up" was her go-to phrase when she wanted to sound better than she was.
"Miss you so much" was... well, that part might be true.
In her way, when she remembered to think about me, she probably did miss me.
But love wasn't just missing someone. It was showing up for them. It was putting their needs above your wants. It was consistency and safety and trust.
Things Mom had never been able to give me, even when she was physically present.
I thought about Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew. About how they'd made room for me in their lives, their home, their hearts—not temporarily, not conditionally, but permanently.
I thought about how they never asked me to keep secrets. How they gave me privacy but not isolation. How they checked in without hovering, set boundaries without control, loved without possession.
I thought about the photography field trip permission slip in my backpack, already signed by Uncle Drew with a little note in the margin: "Can't wait to see what you capture!"
A lump formed in my throat.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Mom.
Mom: Please baby. I really need to see you. Things will be different this time I promise.
The familiar words sent a pang through my chest—not just pain, but recognition. How many times had I heard this exact promise? How many times had I believed it, only to be disappointed when "different" turned out to mean "exactly the same"?
I knew what Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew would say if they saw these messages. They wouldn't forbid me from seeing Mom. They weren't like that. But they would gently suggest meeting in a public place, with one of them nearby. They would prioritize my safety, physical and emotional.
Because that's what parents did.
With a deep breath, I typed my response.
Hi Mom. I'd like to see you too, but I need Aunt Elyse or Uncle Drew to be there. We could meet somewhere public if that works for you.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then waited, heart pounding.
The response came almost immediately.
Mom: Why? Don't you trust me? I'm your MOTHER. They've turned you against me haven't they?
And there it was—the guilt, the manipulation, the refusal to respect boundaries. The real reason she wanted to meet in secret: so there would be no witnesses to whatever state she was actually in.
Tears pricked at my eyes, but they weren't the desperate tears of the past. They were clearer somehow. Sadder, but clearer.
I typed again, my fingers steadier now.
It's not about trust. It's about what's best for both of us. I love you Mom, but I need this boundary right now. Let me know if you're willing to meet with Aunt Elyse or Uncle Drew there.
Send. Wait.
One minute passed. Two. Five.
No response.
I wasn't surprised, not really. Mom operated on her terms or not at all. She wanted the fantasy reunion—her prodigal daughter running into her arms, no questions asked, no accountability required.
But I needed reality now. Messy, complicated reality with people who showed up consistently, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.
A soft knock on the break room door startled me. Jenna peeked in, concern written on her face.
"Everything okay in here? You've been gone a while."
I looked down at my phone, at the unanswered message. At the boundary I'd set and held for perhaps the first time in my life.
"Yeah," I said, surprised to find I meant it. "Everything's okay."
Not perfect. Not solved. But okay.
I stood up, tucking my phone into my pocket. "Sorry for disappearing. Let me help you finish closing."
"Sounds good," Jenna said, her eyes kind. Not prying. Another thing I appreciated about her, she never pushed for more than I was ready to give.
As we finished cleaning the kitchen, I thought about what I would tell Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew. I didn't want to hide the messages. Secrets had poisoned enough of my life already. I would show them soon, explain how I'd responded, ask for their advice about what to do if Mom reached out again.
Because that's what you did with people you trusted. You let them in, even to the hard parts. Especially to the hard parts.
By the time we locked up the bakery, my phone had remained silent. No further messages from Mom. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Probably both, a complicated tangle of emotions I was still learning to navigate.
But as I headed home (actually home, not just a place I was staying) I felt something unexpected beneath the sadness and uncertainty: pride.
I had set a boundary. I had honored my needs. I had chosen health over hope, reality over fantasy.
It was a small step, maybe, but it was mine.