Chapter 24 Jude #2
And in my mom’s case, she’s not only a survivor—she’s the state’s top legal official, married to a man whose reputation is bound up with her own.
There’s no playbook for leaving someone like that—not with camera crews outside her office just waiting for a scandal, or the political capital it would cost her just to ask for help.
She has her justifications for staying, and it’s not my job to judge. Not when I’ve never experienced what she’s been through. But remaining impartial? That’s a much taller order.
“You’re not my client, Mom,” I finally say, trying to stop the burning behind my eyes. “And I’m not judging you. I’m trying…” I let out a ragged exhale. “I just want you to be okay. I’m sorry for lashing out.”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment. When she opens them again, the attorney general is gone, and I’ve got my mom again. “It’s okay,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I’m sorry, too. Sometimes I tell myself that my choices don’t affect you like they used to.”
I repress the urge to pick up one of the nearby throw pillows and scream into it.
It’s always my goal to alleviate her worry about me.
But over the years, I’ve gotten so good at it that the only person who understands how deeply this situation has fucked with me is my therapist. And sometimes, a desperate, childish part of me wishes that someone else knew, too.
Someone I could tell without paying them to listen, simply because they care.
Unbidden, I think of Gracie, and longing arcs through me. I thought I’d accepted loneliness a long time ago. But sitting here tonight makes me ache for the kind of closeness I’ve purposely repelled. The kind that’s impossible to have while I’m forced to hide every part of myself that matters.
“I know it isn’t true,” she says quickly. “But I am telling you the truth about things getting better.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard this story, but I force myself to let it go with a nod, leaning forward to put my head in my hands. We’ve both been boxing without gloves tonight, and I’m too exhausted to keep it up. Too tired to repress the wish that I was with Gracie instead.
Eventually, my mom breaks the heavy silence with a tentative, “So. The transfer of the estate.”
With effort, I lift my head. I’m about to admit that I don’t have it in me to discuss it further, but her eyes are so anxious, I keep quiet. “Everything is going smoothly?” she asks. “You’ve got the right team in place?”
I sigh, knowing what she’s really asking. She’s built her political career on squeaky clean optics, and getting rid of Larkwood is something she wants done as quietly as possible. “Yes, Mom,” I assure her. “It’s a small, discreet group, and they’ve all signed NDAs.”
She chews her lip and stares at me like she’s trying to find holes in my plan. “And what about your friends? Or girlfriends? You haven’t breathed a word about this to anyone, right?”
The padlock I’ve kept around my mother’s secrets gives a weary groan, but it’s so welded over with age and rust, there’s no point worrying it will open.
If there’s anything in this world I take seriously, it’s victim confidentiality.
And in the case with my mother, it’s even more than that—our personal relationship is at stake.
She trusts me to keep her secrets, and I always will.
No matter how isolating it is. No matter what kind of love I have to sacrifice to keep this one safe.
“No, Mom,” I say quietly. “No one knows except David.”
She brings the tips of her fingers to her mouth, drumming nervously. “And he’s under an NDA, too, right?”
“He’s my therapist. He’s under a legal oath not to divulge—”
“I’d feel more comfortable if he signed another NDA.”
I close my eyes, praying for patience. “Okay. I’ll ask again.”
There’s a stretch of uncomfortable silence. When I open my eyes again, she looks as diminished as I feel.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For your discretion. For keeping this in the family where it belongs.”
At this, a surge of emotion tears through my exhaustion like it was never there. “It belongs nowhere,” I say, fists clenching on my knees. Not in this house, not at Larkwood, not in any home.
“It doesn’t,” she agrees quickly. “Of course it doesn’t.”
“You don’t deserve this,” I tell her, voice shaking. “You deserve a life without fear.”
It’s such a stupid, callous thing to say. As if it were that simple. But I can’t take it back, just like I can’t stop my eyes from welling or my throat from closing up.
She shakes her head, voice catching as she whispers, “There’s no such thing, rabbit.”
I press my palms to my stinging eyes, unable to take a deep enough breath. I know she’s right, but I’d give anything to show her that things could be better. I’d give anything to show her a future with wide-open laughter and sweetness in safety. I’d give anything at all. Anything.
“I would keep it.” The words escape in a low, fevered rush before I can stop them. “I’d keep Larkwood if you left him.”
As soon as I say it, self-loathing hits the pit of my stomach, caustic as an acid bloom.
This is almost exactly what Nana did, but worse, because unlike Nana, I know that bargaining with a victim of DV is never the right thing to do.
But the desperate temptation of holding a bargaining chip this powerful has stripped me of all my rationale, until I feel just like a panicked child again, being told to run. To hide. Fast as you can, Rabbit.
But I don’t want to run. I don’t want any more secrets to keep. I want to make the same childish promises I used to. I’ll be good if you leave him. I’ll stop crying if you leave him. I’ll take care of you if you leave him.
My frame is rigid on the couch despite my pounding heart. Her gaze is stunned, and I can hardly breathe because for the first time ever, she’s not looking at me like my promises don’t stack up against all the reasons she stays with him.
It’s why, despite all my training and experience, I say, “You could live there again.” I move closer to her, clumsily trying to capitalize on her moment of indecision. “I-I’d keep everything just the way it was. It would be like coming home.”
I’m holding my breath when she finally says, “That’s… that’s a lot to consider.”
“Yes,” I say, ready to be agreeable.
Her eyes rove around the room we’re in. It’s beautiful, but it’s not home. It never will be. Her gaze slides back to me.
“Can I think about it?”
I’m nodding. If I could nod my entire body, I would.
“Of course.” Somewhere, far in the background of my mind, I register the consequences of what this might mean.
The deal I’ve worked so hard on for Larkwood would be lost. Guilt for those who would be impacted rushes through me, but I’m too wired for it to settle.
Too drunk on a possibility I’ve hoped for my entire life.
I see her smiling. I see myself with Gracie and Henry, fully unburdened from my secrecy.
I reach for my mom’s hand and grab onto it.
“I need to know soon, though,” I say. “Before August.”
She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes wide as she considers a different future for the first time. We both know how much she’d be risking. But finally, she says, “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat. Whatever happens next is her choice. No matter what, I’ll respect it. But as her gaze holds mine—warm and solid as the grip on my hand—I feel something bright and unfamiliar take shape in the center of my chest.
I think it might be hope.