Chapter 30
I sat on the floral-patterned couch, running my fingers over the worn fabric as a purring cat pressed against my legs. From the kitchen came the sounds of movement: cupboards opening, cups clinking against a counter, and the rush of water from the tap.
The living room felt cozy in the way only an old house could.
It was dated, yes, but in a comforting way.
A deep green rug stretched across the floor, and thick curtains framed the windows.
Family pictures covered the walls—faces of people I didn’t recognize, except for a few that had a little girl in them. A girl who could have been me.
Little figurines filled the shelves—dolls, which were a bit creepy, but also porcelain animals.
Especially little pig figures.
My gaze remained on those pigs. A small grouping of them sat on the side table next to the couch, their cheerful faces frozen in place. They were just like the ones I used to collect—the same ones my father had given me.
Kelly returned, carrying a small tray and holding it steady with both hands. The aroma of coffee reached me before she set it down on the side table next to me.
“Here’s your coffee,” she said with a smile. “I baked cookies yesterday. If I had known who would be knocking at my door today, I would have baked them fresh this morning.”
I reached for the cup and one of the cookies.
“Oh, these look amazing,” I said, biting into one.
I’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but these tasted like something special.
Maybe it was because they came from my grandmother.
Or maybe they really were that good. “Wow,” I murmured, brushing a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “These are incredible.”
Kelly’s smile deepened. “My great-grandmother’s recipe. The secret is browned butter, a little espresso, and letting the dough chill overnight. Your dad loved them. So did you.”
She eased into a chair across from me, watching quietly as I ate. The silence between us felt heavy but not uncomfortable, just full of things neither of us knew how to say yet.
“I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” I said at last. “I tried calling, but it must have been a disconnected number.”
Her hand lifted to her mouth. It was trembling slightly. “Oh, goodness. Please don’t apologize. I can’t believe God brought you back to me.” Tears welled in her eyes.
I sat there holding my coffee, unsure what to do. My throat tightened when I saw her shoulders shake. My own eyes blurred, and a tear slipped free, landing straight into the cup I was holding.
Kelly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry for causing trouble.”
She glanced at a framed photo on a nearby table. It showed a young man holding a baby, his arms awkward but protective. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen.
“When your dad died, I felt it,” she said quietly.
“That very moment, even though he was far away. Even before the call came to tell me that he’d overdosed.
It felt like part of me had been torn out, and I just knew.
” Her voice trembled. “But I never felt that with you. I always knew you were still alive. And I prayed every single day that you’d find your way back to me. ”
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “Do you know what happened back then?” I asked. “If it’s too painful, I understand, but it’s the one piece I’m missing about myself. What happened before Cynthia brought me to the Breakers?”
Her expression darkened. She pinched her lips together and took a long sip of coffee.
“I could come back another time,” I offered quickly. My stomach knotted with guilt. I hated the thought of barging in here and upending her life. I knew how it felt.
“Oh, no, please don’t leave,” she said quickly, almost panicked. “Of course I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I nodded as one of the cats leaped into my lap. It was the same one that had been following me since I’d walked through the door. Its fur felt rough beneath my fingers, its body bony and frail. One of its eyes was clouded white, but the purr rumbling out of it was strong.
“That’s Princess,” Kelly said warmly. “You were allergic to dogs, so we got you a cat. When your dad went to prison”—her voice faltered, and she drew in a slow breath—“you struggled after that. Princess helped you so much.”
I looked down at the cat, stroking her gently. “This cat is mine?”
Kelly nodded. “Twenty-five proud years old. It’s like she was waiting for you to come back.
You and her were inseparable. School was hard for you back then.
Cynthia dropped you off and picked you up constantly.
There was never any stability. You had trouble making friends, but Princess .
. .” She smiled softly. “She was always there and loved you.”
The cat’s purr vibrated against me, steady and warm, like the only thing in the world that could ever mend me. I gave her some extra cuddles, then focused back on my grandmother.
“How did Cynthia and my dad meet?” I asked quietly.
Kelly stood and set her coffee down. “Hold on a moment.” She crossed the room to a cabinet and pulled out a thick yearbook. When she came back, she glanced at me with a hopeful look. “Mind if I sit next to you?”
“Of course not,” I said, shifting over to make room.
She sat beside me and opened the yearbook on the couch, careful not to disturb Princess, who was settled across my lap like she had no intention of moving.
The cat’s steady purr vibrated against my legs as Kelly flipped through the worn pages.
The smell of old paper and ink rose faintly with every turn.
A few pages in, Kelly stopped and turned the book toward me.
My gaze locked onto two faces staring back at me in faded colors: my dad, the same man from the photo on the side table, smiling with easy confidence, and my mom, her beauty undeniable even then.
However, her eyes betrayed something else: a weariness that clung to her expression, like life had already started weighing her down long before this picture had been taken.
“They were high school sweethearts,” my grandmother said.
“She lived up the road from here. I don’t know much about her family.
She never spoke about them. But it wasn’t a loving house she came from.
The police were called there often. I think Henry, your grandfather on her side, had a bad drinking problem. ”
I studied my mother’s picture, this girl who must have been fighting for her own survival from the start. In some twisted way, it felt familiar.
“Are they still alive?” I asked. “Anyone from Cynthia’s family?”
Kelly shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. And if there is, you might be better off staying away.”
I nodded. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. Sitting here, with this sweet grandmother and an ancient cat purring in my lap, felt enough. Aside from Daniel.
“What happened?” My eyes drifted back to my dad’s photo.
He wasn’t particularly handsome, just average: brown hair, brown eyes, a nose a little too big, one slightly crooked tooth.
However, his build was impossible to miss.
Even in the picture, he looked huge—broad shoulders, a chest like a wall.
He had to be over six feet tall. His stance was steady and powerful, like he could take on anything.
Kelly smiled softly, her eyes warming as she looked at me. “You look so much like him. You have his eyebrows and nose.” She tilted her head. “Although yours is a bit smaller, thank God.”
A giggle slipped out before I could stop it.
“Your dad was always so strong,” she went on.
“Honest to the core. Always willing to help anyone. That’s how they fell in love, I think.
” She stared off for a moment, the memory seeming to pull her somewhere else.
“It was raining that night. A horrible Thanksgiving storm. We heard screaming outside and saw Cynthia and her father fighting in the street. She was barefoot. Looked like she’d run for her life.
Your grandpa—my husband—told us to stay out of it, said it was none of our business.
But your dad, he didn’t even hesitate. He stormed out just as Bob, your other grandpa, grabbed your mom by the hair and started dragging her back.
Your dad landed a solid punch and brought her inside. ”
Her gaze drifted to the window. For a long beat, she was lost there.
“Of course, he fell for her beauty,” she continued. “How could he not? She was perfect. And when she loved him back, I’d like to believe they were happy for a while.”
“Until she got pregnant with me?” The words came out rough. A sharp pain twisted through me at the thought that I’d been the reason it all went wrong.
A teen pregnancy.
Kelly turned to me, her voice firm. “Oh, no, honey. No. Nothing about this is your fault. It’s the world’s fault, like always.
” Her shoulders sagged. “Things started to fall apart when your mom began to show. The bullying at school was awful. And the school did nothing to stop it. Your mother dropped out quickly. Your dad tried to stay, but after losing his friends and the football team, he started running with the wrong crowd. Then he broke his hand, and the doctor gave him those awful pain pills. That’s when it all changed. ”
Her voice dropped. “He said they took everything away. The pain, the stress. When the doctor cut him off, he found other ways to get that feeling. From street drugs. The drugs hollowed him out, turned the sweetest boy I’d ever known into a ghost. He lost so much weight, his skin turned gray, his veins and hands .
. . they were always swollen and purple. ”
Kelly shook her head, her mouth trembling. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I can’t even blame Cynthia for leaving him. And there were days I wished he’d never gone out that rainy night to save her. But then…”