Chapter 9 #2
Still, I’ve always assumed that cost was the reason why she’d resisted having a pet for so long. One more mouth to feed. But if it’s not that…
“Then what is it about?”
She hesitates. “I just… don’t need the extra responsibility.”
“I already said I’d take care of him.”
She sighs and crosses the room, easing down on the edge of my bed, careful to keep her distance from Argyros.
“And what about next year? You can’t bring a dog with you to New York.”
I roll my eyes.
“Pretty sure they allow dogs in Manhattan, Mom.”
“Not in the NYU dorms they don’t.” Her face softens then, and she gives me a hopeful look.
“But… if you stayed local. Laguna Hills University has a wonderful music program, you know. And we’re so close to LA—lots of great opportunities to get involved with the arts here.
If you stayed, maybe I’d reconsider the dog. ”
A familiar pang of sadness—of guilt—hits, low and sharp.
There’s a part of me that still feels like her little kid, not her grown daughter.
New York is far, and it’s not like we have the money for regular flights back and forth.
I won’t be able to come home often to see her.
If I get into NYU, we’ll go from seeing each other every day to just a few weeks a year, during school breaks.
I know it will hurt her when I leave. It will hurt me too.
But I can’t let that be the reason I give up on my dreams.
“Mom, we’ve talked about this,” I say gently, reaching for her hand. “If I’m going to do theater seriously, I have to go where the industry is. That’s New York City.”
Her fingers stiffen, then slip from mine.
“Fine,” she says. “Go, then. But I’m not taking care of your ridiculous dog after you abandon us.”
I groan. “You make it sound like I’m leaving forever. I’ll be home for holidays. And summers,” I say. “We’ll FaceTime every day. I promise.”
She blinks at me, eyes glistening.
“You’re my baby. The thought of you so far away, in a place where I can’t protect you—”
And there it is. The tears.
“Mom, please don’t cry—”
“I just worry about you,” she says, dabbing her nose with the oversized, fluffy sleeve of her dress. “There are dangers everywhere, Alysander. You can’t see them like I can. You don’t know what’s really out there…”
I bite back a sigh.
Here we go again.
Of course, in her mind, this isn’t just about normal mother-daughter safety concerns like getting mugged on the big-city streets or lost on the subway. No, she thinks I’ll be abducted by Underworld shadow people on my way to class or chased through Central Park by demon hellhounds.
“It’s New York. Not the Black Forest,” I mutter. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve gotten in yet.”
“You will.”
She says it firmly, like my fate’s already sealed.
“You don’t know that,” I say, picking at some loose threads on my bedspread. “The competition’s brutal. I’ve got good grades, but no résumé.”
“You’ve got chorus.”
“High school chorus,” I say flatly. “What if I’m just… not good enough?”
She takes my hand, gripping it tightly.
“You’re special, baby. More special than you realize.” Her tone shifts, her eyes going glassy and wide. There’s a hint of something, almost manic, in the way she’s looking at me. My stomach knots, and suddenly, I’m thinking about the letters again.
“Mom… I need to ask you something.” I lick my dry lips. “But you have to promise you won’t get mad.”
“Why would I get mad?”
“I just… don’t think you’re going to like it.”
My shoulders stiffen, tension pulling tight across my chest. She’s already on edge—about NYU, the dog, me leaving. And now I’m about to tell her I went through her private things. That I found intimate letters between her and my father that she never meant for me to see.
But it’s more than that.
I’m scared of what she’ll actually say about the letters when I ask. Scared I’m not ready to hear the truth. What if my mom isn’t just quirky and spiritual and maybe a little too obsessed with her weird fairy tale stories, like I’ve always told myself? What if she’s actually… unwell?
“You’re making me nervous, Alysander. What is it?”
My fingers drift to my cuticles, picking at the skin. I wish I had one of her magical crystals—Tiger’s Eye, maybe, for courage. I don’t believe in any of it, but right now, I’d take anything that might help.
“First off, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I begin.
“But you didn’t fill out the parent portion of my NYU application like you promised, so I figured I’d do it myself.
I couldn’t remember your college information—if you even graduated, or what year—so I went into your room…
” I swallow hard. “Into the files in your closet—”
“Alysander!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I lift my hands slightly, a small gesture of apology. “I was only looking for your college records, I swear. But then I found a folder tucked in the back of the box… the one labeled ‘S’.”
Her expression shifts—tightens. It’s obvious she knows exactly what folder I’m talking about.
“I shouldn’t have looked, I know that. But he’s my father,” I continue. “I read what you wrote in those letters. About gods. And monsters. The Underworld. You don’t really believe all of that… do you?”
She draws back, her fingers drifting to the third eye pendant at her throat, the gold one with the blue stone at its center. The one that’s supposed to ward off darkness.
“Oh, Alysander…” Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t look away. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Find out what?”
A wistful smile tugs at her lips. “You have his eyes, you know.”
I’d suspected as much after seeing his photo but hearing her say it cracks something open in my chest. I wonder what it’s been like for her—to look into my eyes every day and see his. To be reminded of the man who left.
Does it hurt her? Does it make her sad when she looks at me?
God, I hope not.
“You’re right. It’s time you knew the truth,” she says.
Her eyes lock on mine with the eerie calm of someone about to detonate a bomb, and I brace myself for the implosion. Whatever she’s been hiding, it must be bad. Really bad. Because what kind of man walks away from a woman like my mom? From two baby girls?
“Why did he really leave us?” I ask, heart thudding in my chest. “Was it drugs? Alcohol? An affair?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that.” Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. “Your father was—is—the most amazing man I’ve ever known. We were happy. But he isn’t like everyone else. He’s… different.”
“Different how?”
She leans in, voice dropping. “Your father’s a Titan.”
My skin prickles uneasily.
“A what?”
“A Titan,” she repeats. “They’re an ancient race of god-like beings who existed before the Olympians. You’ve heard of the Olympian gods, yes?”
“Like… from Greek mythology?”
“Exactly.” She nods, looking pleased. “Many years ago, there was a great war between the Titans and the Olympians. The Olympians won, and your father—Sonar—was imprisoned in the Underworld by Zeus and his brothers Hades and Poseidon. But he escaped. Came here. Fell in love with a human woman… Me.” She presses a hand to her heart. “And we had two daughters together.”
I stare at her, willing the words to stop, a slow pressure building behind my ribs.
This cannot be happening…
“I was pregnant with your sister when they found out he’d escaped,” she says.
“Zeus sent the Watchers—Olympian guards—to drag your father back. He was terrified. Not for himself, but for us. Children with a mortal woman are forbidden, and he was afraid of what they’d do if they ever found out about you and your sister.
He said he had to go, that he’d come back when it was safe. ”
Her voice catches, and a single tear slips down her cheek.
“I—I never saw him again.” She draws a shaky breath. “But he was right. The danger, I’m afraid, is very real. It’s why I’ve been so protective, so scared for you all these years.”
My head spins as she finishes her story. I can’t believe it; she’s not denying any of it.
Crystals and aura paintings are one thing. Weird, sure, but harmless. Kooky. Eccentric. Something embarrassing to whine to Hayes about.
But this?
This is the kind of thing people get strapped into straitjackets for. The kind of thing that gets you committed.
“Mom… you know this isn’t real, right? Titans? Olympians? They don’t exist.”
“Of course they do. Have you not been listening to me all these years?” She stiffens. “The tourmaline bracelets? The protection pouches? What did you think it was all for?”
“Those were just stories,” I say, my voice faltering. “Silly little fairytales.”
“I can assure you, Alysander, it’s all as real as you and me.”
I can only stare at her, stunned into silence.
My mother has held down a steady job, paid bills, raised two kids on her own. She functions in society, mostly. Yet all this time, she’s genuinely believed she had children with a god from another realm. And somehow she’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s out of touch with reality.
“Mom… have you ever thought about talking to someone about this?” I ask gently.
“You mean a therapist?” She scoffs. “What for? So someone can tell me I’m crazy when I already know I’m not?”
I rub my temples, my headache from earlier returning with a fury.
“I really think it could help. I could even come with you,” I offer.
“Alysander, I’m your mother. Please don’t speak to me like I’m a child,” she says, her tone clipped. “I know this is hard to hear. But you’re half Titan—born of a god—whether you believe it or not. My only regret is not telling you sooner. Keeping it in has been eating me alive.”
“Then why did you?”
“You wouldn’t remember, but when you were little, you told me you were going to find your father and bring him home.
You were five or six, but you were so sure.
I panicked. I told you just enough to calm you down.
” Her jaw tightens, the movement sharp. “But the next day, you told your teacher, and the principal called me in. Asked if I was using drugs. I thought they’d take you away.
” She sniffles once, quick and fierce. “After that, I kept it all to myself.”
I grab a tissue from my nightstand and hand it to her.
“Thanks, honey,” she murmurs, dabbing at her eyes. “It’s not easy being a single mom, being cut off by my own parents. No safety net. No support. No money for lawyers if anything went wrong. Keeping the truth buried felt like the safest option. I had to protect you and your sister. No matter what.”
“Oh, Mom,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “I’m so sorry.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in for a hug.
She’s been through so much. Whatever the truth is—whatever she’s created to fill in the gaps—I don’t doubt her love for me or Amber.
Not for a second. Every overprotective impulse, every strange warning or superstition, it all comes from a place of fierce devotion.
As much as her misplaced belief in some crazy mythical delusion worries me, part of me understands why she clings to it. It’s far less painful to believe my father left to protect our family than to admit the truth—he just didn’t want to stay.
“I love you so much, baby,” she murmurs. “I wish he could see the woman you’ve become. He’d be so proud.”
“Uh huh… sure,” I say, patting her hand noncommittally. The sentiment is sweet, but I’m not about to validate her fantasy. “Maybe we don’t tell Amber about this just yet? Can it stay between us for now?”
Telling Amber would be like tossing a match into a powder keg. She’d lose her goddamn mind. Between college and everything else going on, I can only handle one unhinged family member at a time.
“Of course, honey.” She nods, brushing away the last of her tears, then perks up with fragile optimism. “On the bright side, since you’re half Titan, you can go to the Underworld someday.”
I force a smile.
“Great, Mom. That sounds… really lovely.”
But she’s already gone, lost to a hope that sparks wildly in her eyes.
“Maybe enough time has passed. Maybe it’s safe now for him to come home.” She leans in, her voice trembling with fierce conviction. “And you’re the one, Alysander. I just know it. You can bring him back to us. Just like you always said you would.”