Chapter 33
Alice
My mother’s car is already in my driveway when I pull up. She’s sitting behind the wheel, engine off, waiting. The sight makes my stomach clench. My hands grip the steering wheel.
I sit in my car for a moment, gathering courage I’m not sure I have. Through my windshield, I can see her checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, touching up her lipstick. Even for an ambush, Mom has to look perfect.
I get out and walk to the front door, keys jingling in my shaking hands. Mom follows behind me, her heels clicking on the concrete.
“Alice, we need to discuss this situation before it gets any worse,” she says before I’ve even unlocked the door.
“Hi to you too, Mom.”
Inside, she doesn’t wait for an invitation. She sets her purse on my kitchen counter and turns to face me, arms crossed like I'm a teenager she just caught sneaking out.
“I’ve never liked this house,” Mom looks around in disgust. “I don’t know what you ever saw in it.”
“Grandma always made this house welcoming,” I shrug, adjusting my glasses. “You would know if you ever visited when she was alive.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“What I’ve done?”
“That police officer of yours is going to lose his job because of you. His career, his reputation, everything. All because you couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.” I've always hated her metaphors. I could never tell if I was too dumb to understand them or if she just picked whatever sounded good.
I adjust my glasses, buying time to control my anger.
I drop my keys on the table harder than necessary. “That police officer has a name—Sawyer. And Lance hurt me, Mom. For all the years we were together. But I honestly don’t think you even care.”
“Lance made mistakes. But this investigation? This is destroying an innocent man’s life.”
“Innocent?” I stare at her. “Sawyer is the innocent one here. You’re trying to tear him down because he did his job and it didn’t benefit you in the slightest.”
Mom sits down at my kitchen table uninvited, pushing her dark brown hair—the exact same color as mine—out of her face. “Alice Marie, sit down. We need to have a serious conversation.”
I don’t want to sit, but something in her tone makes me. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded paper.
“What’s that?”
“I’m giving you another chance. Your statement dropping the charges. All you have to do is sign it, and this whole mess goes away.”
My hands go cold. I press them flat against my thighs to stop them from shaking. “You brought paperwork to make me drop the charges?”
“I brought a solution to a problem you created. If you sign it, we will forget this ever happened and you can ride into the sunset with your little cop.” She holds up a blue ink pen, pointing at me waiting for me to take it out of her grip.
“I didn’t create anything. Lance created this when he decided to stalk me.”
Mom’s face hardens. “Lance was concerned about you. You moved away without telling anyone, cut off contact. He was worried.”
“Maybe there was a reason for that. He put a tracker on my car, Mom. And let’s not forget the reason I left. He threw a glass plate at me. It didn’t hit me but what if it did?”
“Maybe if you stop being such a spoiled brat, he wouldn’t have lost his temper,” Mom’s voice deepens.
Something hot flashes through my chest. My jaw clenches.
Spoiled brat? I stare at her. One parent dead, the other dead to me even though she's sitting across from me.
I stare at her. “Sawyer found it attached to my car.”
“Convenient, don’t you think? Your new boyfriend just happens to find evidence that supports your story?”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re confused. I think you let your feelings for this man cloud your judgment.”
I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said get out of my house.”
Mom doesn’t move. “Alice, we’re not done talking.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Lance’s family is filing their own complaint. They have lawyers, Alice. Good ones. They can make this very difficult for him.”
“Goodbye Mother.” I’m calling their bluff, even though deep down I’m terrified.
“Sign this statement and end this nonsense.”
I look at the paper on my table, then back at my mother. “Why do you care so much about protecting Lance?”
“It’s not about Lance. It’s about you making smart decisions for once.”
“That’s not why. This is about your job, isn’t it?” I step closer to her.
Mom’s face doesn’t change, but something flickers in her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Lance’s family. Carlston Properties. That’s who you work for.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. They’re your boss. If Lance goes to prison, what happens to your job?”
“Alice, that’s not—”
“That's exactly what this is about.” The pieces fall into place. My heart is pounding but my voice is steady. "You're not here to protect me. You're here to save your own career.”
Mom stands up, her face flushed. “How dare you.”
“How dare I what? Tell the truth? You’d rather see me get hurt than lose your paycheck.”
“I would rather see you stop being dramatic and think about the consequences of your actions.”
“My actions? What about Lance’s actions? What about the fact that he made my life hell for years? But of course since he was always the son you’ve always wanted, you wouldn’t care. I know I wasn’t a kid you wanted, but you could show me some dignity.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I? He tracked my every move. He broke into my house. He grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises. But sure, Mom. I’m exaggerating.”
“You always were prone to theatrics.”
I push my glasses up my nose. The dismissal in her voice breaks something inside me. “You know what? You’re right. I am dramatic. I’m so dramatic that I actually thought my own mother would believe me when I told her someone was hurting me.”
“Alice—”
“I’m so dramatic that I thought you’d care more about my safety than Lance’s reputation.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I walk to the front door and open it. “You chose him over me a year ago when I called you crying. You didn’t even listen to my side. You’re choosing him over me now. At least be honest about it.”
Mom picks up her purse, her movements sharp and angry. “You’re making a mistake, Alice. A big one.”
“Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”
“He's going to lose everything because of you. And when he does, he'll blame you for it. He'll leave, just like everyone else does.”
The words hit exactly where she intended them to. But this time, they don't break me.
After she leaves, I lock the door and lean against it. My hands are shaking again, but this time it’s anger instead of fear. What was that? A long time ago, I wouldn't have dared speak to my mom that way. Even if she was cruel. Whatever it was, it felt nice to stand up for myself.
I pick up the document she left on my table. All I have to do is sign my name and Sawyer’s troubles go away.
But Lance’s troubles go away too.
I tear the paper in half, then in half again, until it’s just pieces scattered across my kitchen table. The sound is satisfying.
My mother made her choice. Now I’ve made mine.
An hour later, I’m standing in Pine Hollows Cemetery, holding a small bouquet of sunflowers from the grocery store. The sun is setting, casting long shadows between the headstones, and the air is cool with the promise of winter.
I walk the familiar path to the back corner where my grandmother rests under a simple granite headstone. Even after all this time, seeing her name carved in stone makes my chest tight.
Alice Marie Campbell
Beloved Mother and Grandmother
“A woman of quiet strength and fierce love.”
Same first name, same middle name, same last name.
My maternal grandmother. Mom told me she named me after her since we were bonded from the moment I was conceived.
She gave me her maiden name instead of my father's—Campbell instead of whatever legacy he might have left me.
I never even knew his last name until I was old enough to ask.
By then, he'd been gone so long it didn't matter anymore.
I kneel down and place the sunflowers (her favorite flower) at the base of the headstone, brushing away fallen leaves. My hands are steadier here than they were with my mother.
“Hi, Grandma,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been a while.”
The cemetery is quiet except for the wind through the trees. The grass is damp. The air smells like earth and fallen leaves. I settle onto the grass, not caring if my jeans get dirty.
“I had a fight with Mom today. A big one.” I laugh without humor. “I guess that’s not news to you. You knew what she was like better than anyone. I couldn’t imagine trying to raise someone like that. I don’t know how someone like her came from someone like you.”
I trace my finger along the carved letters of her name.
“She chose Lance over me. Again. She actually brought paperwork to my house trying to get me to drop the charges against someone for doing the right thing. She thinks he’s only trying to get into my pants.
Like I’m not worthy of something so much more. Can you believe that?”
The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around me.
“I tore it up, though. I told her to get out of my house.” I feel tears starting. “I finally stood up to her, Grandma. I finally told her she was wrong.”
I think about all the times my grandmother defended me when Mom was being critical, all the afternoons we spent in her kitchen while she taught me to bake and told me I was strong enough to handle anything.
“You’re stronger than you think, Alice Marie," she'd say. "Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.”
“There’s this man,” I continue. “His name is Sawyer. You would have liked him. He’s kind and he makes me feel safe in a way I never thought was possible. He’s literally the polar opposite of Lance.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “He’s a police officer, and he arrested Lance when Lance broke into your house—my house—and hurt me. But now Mom is trying to destroy his career because she thinks protecting Lance is more important than protecting me.”
The unfairness of it hits me fresh and sharp.
“I don’t understand her, Grandma. How can a mother choose someone who hurt her daughter over the person who protected her? You never would have done that.”
I remember my grandmother’s fierce protectiveness, the way she’d get between me and anyone who tried to hurt me, including my own mother.
“Sawyer might lose everything he’s worked for because he cared enough to help me.” My voice cracks. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
The sunflowers move gently in the breeze, like she's trying to talk to me.
“I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m not worth all the trouble. That maybe Mom is right and I’m just being dramatic. That maybe Lance wasn’t really that bad and I’m just—”
I stop myself, hearing how those thoughts sound out loud. They’re my mother’s voice, not mine. Not my grandmother's. Not Sawyer's. And not mine either. Not anymore.
“No,” I say more firmly. “That’s not true. Lance hurt me. For years. And Mom knew and chose to protect him instead of me. That’s not my fault.”
I think about Sawyer’s hands gently checking my wrist after Lance grabbed me, the way he looked at Lance like he wanted to put him through a wall.
“Sawyer sees me, Grandma. Really sees me. He makes me feel like I’m enough, just as I am.”
The cemetery is getting darker, but I’m not ready to leave yet.
“I think I love him,” I whisper. “I love him so much it scares me. This feeling is way different than what I felt for Lance. I don’t think Lance could ever make me feel the way that Sawyer makes me feel.”
I lean forward and rest my hand on the cool granite. “I wish you were here to meet him. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. I wish you could remind Mom who she’s supposed to protect.”
My grandmother believed I could be strong, so she taught me how. She believed I could be independent, so she left me her house. She believed I deserved love and respect, so she showed me what that looked like.
Now I have to believe it too.
“I’m going to keep fighting, Grandma,” I say, standing and brushing grass off my jeans. “For Sawyer, for my own happiness, for anyone else Lance might hurt. I’m going to be the Alice you always said I could be.”
I kiss my fingers and press them to her name carved in stone.
“Thank you for the house. Thank you for showing me what real love looks like. Thank you for believing in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself.”
As I walk back to my car, I feel different. Steadier. The cemetery gate creaks behind me, closing on more than just a visit.
My mother made her choice today. But I made mine too.
I chose to be my grandmother's granddaughter.
Not my mother's victim.