No one else is here beside Ana, Brinley, and me. Any strings I had holding me together fray the second Brinley crawls into mylap. They bend and snap when her small arms come up to wrap around my neck, and Ana whispers, "Are you alright?"
I begin to cry again, loudly and without restraint. A full-on body-shaking, cry. Because Ifeelsmall. I feel like a child again in Ana’s presence, and with her gentle tone. It’s so motherly, so loving, that it cracks my heart in two. I clutch Brinley tighter, as if reminding myself she exists will keep me from shattering. “I-I’m sorry.” I hiccup, tears streaming down my face and blurring my vision. “I’m so sorry I brought this into your family. I never wanted this to happen.”
Ana moves forward on her knees, encasing Brinley, and me in a group hug. Her own voice is shaking as she says, “It’s not your fault, Whitney.” Another sob consumes me. “Ourfamily will never be perfect. No family is.”
I shake my head, still clutching her as tightly as she’s clutching us, desperate for her to understand, “I never wanted this for Brinley,” I cry, “To grow up surrounded by animosity and hate. To grow up with a mother like the one I had. But how? How can I do it, whenshefollows me everywhere?” I ask.
Because Idohate my mother. I hate her so deeply it hurts because Idon’twant to hate her. I just wanted her to be the mom I deserved. I wanted to crawl into bed and cry with her when I needed it. But what I hate, most of all, is that Brinley might one day feel this pain. That she will have to question whyshealone wasn’t enough to make Andrew stay. Will she hate me for him leaving? The same way I hated my mom for making my dad leave, too?
I just wanted my mother to be the example. To guide me—because I don’t want to figure this out on my own anymore. I amtired.
I wish Wyatt was here. That I didn’t slam the door in his face, and rather let him hold me while I finally broke. I wanthimto be the one enveloping me right now and telling me it’ll be okay.Ineedhim to promise that he’ll stay. Not just for me, but for Brinley. At least, for Brinley.
Ana’s fingers comb through my hair, her voice steady despite the emotion caught in her throat. And I realize her tears weren’t from pity, but because she feels what I feel in that way all mothers do. Especially when she says, “You are already the mom you never had, sweet girl. The love you show Brinley everyday isn’t just unconditional—it’sreal.That’s more than enough.”
“But what if it’s not?” I whisper. “What if I mess her up, anyways?”
“Then you get back up, again.” Ana replies. “You apologize when you get it wrong. You love her louder. You try again, and again, and again.That’swhat real mothers do. You’re going to make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fix them.”
I manage to nod—a shuddering gasp tearing from my throat as I attempt to calm myself down. My cheeks were raw from tears and my nose was running all over the place. My eyes hurt so bad that I’m sure they’ll still be sore tomorrow morning. Ana and I pull apart when Brinley murmurs, “Mommy?”
I hum, running a hand over her head. I look down to find her green eyes boring into mine. “I wuvz you.” That line alone is what saves me. I pull her closer, letting Ana’s words guide me. While I may have not gotten it right today, tomorrow I will try again. Now, I will love her louder, maybe even love myself a little louder, too.
Before the disaster this afternoon,we had a full day of games and activities planned. Now, Ana, Brinley, and I are sprawled out on the couch watching re-runs of the Thanksgiving Day Parade.
As the sun continues to set, any threads holding my anxiety-riddled mind together begin to fray. Wyattstillisn’t back. I've tried calling and texting him, but every single one has gone ignored. A huge turkey passes on the screen, making Brinley yell and clap when my phone starts to ring. I launch for where it sits on the coffee table, thinking it’s Wyatt finally calling me back.
It’s not.
But I recognize the number–they handle the insurance for Bell’s. I slide my thumb across the screen, pulling the phone to my ear and chirping a quick, “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Ms. Whitney Adler?” The unfamiliar, feminine voice filters into my ear.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Caroline Wallace, and I’m calling from Stonebridge’s Fire Investigation Division. I am so sorry to be bugging you on holiday, but I just wanted to touch base before we finalize a few things on your claim?”
“Uh- okay,” I mutter back, half-listening. Probably just something small. Caroline continues, “As you know, the fire at your shop was no coincidence. We’ve been working with your local law enforcement for months now, but today, we flagged something a little… complicated. I wanted to check with you directly before we move forward.”
Dread settles heavy in my stomach as her tone takes on a concerning edge. I don’t say anything, and she pushes on. “During a financial audit tied to the case, we found a wire transfer of two hundred thousand dollars. From a Michelle Adler to an Andrew Millers? The transfer was processed on September thirtieth.”
“That… that was the day of the fire,” I whisper. “Yes ma’am.” I can practically hear her nodding her head. “Ms. Adler wasn’t listed as a business partner or as a financial backer, so it was automatically flagged for review…”
I pull the phone from my ear, staring at the screen. Trying to gauge if I’m correctly reading the number, or if this is some cruel prank. A cold rush of ice slides down my spine, and I think my phone may slip from my fingers, crashing somewhere near my feet.
My mother’s name.
Andrew.
Fire.
The woman’s words drift in and out, repeating in my head like a haunting musical tune. Just when I think my world is already flipped upside down, it bursts into flames with one phone call.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
WYATT
My truck keys thump against the marble kitchen counter as Wesley rips open the fridge. He doesn’t ask if I want anything–just pops the caps off two tall beer bottles and slides one across the island toward me. I catch it and mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”
