A cold, sharp fear flashes through me. “Mom, what is he going to do?”
She hesitates, just a moment, but she doesn’t lie.
“He’s embarrassed, I imagine. And when he’s embarrassed, he lashes out. But you don’t have to answer him. Neither do I.”
“I didn’t want that wedding,” I say, the words tumbling out, raw and unpolished. “I didn’t wantanyof it. But now everything feels like it’s about to collapse.” My voice shakes. “What happens next?”
“I know you didn’t want it,” she says gently. “Of course I know. I raised you.”
A strangled laugh escapes me. “It was all his idea. The job. The engagement. The wedding. My whole life in Dallas… I don’t even know how it happened.”
“I do.” Her tone firms. “Your father likes control. He likes being admired. And he’s used to people bending to him. And you, sweetheart… you wanted so badly to make him proud.”
It hits like truth always does. Quiet and devastating.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please don’t answer his calls.”
“I won’t,” she promises immediately. “He’ll try to twist this, Faith. He’ll try to make it your fault. But you don’t owe him a single piece of yourself that you don’t want to give.”
My vision blurs. A tear slips free.
“I’m coming to see you soon,” I whisper. “As soon as the roads clear.”
“I would love that,” she murmurs. “Whenever you’re ready. No pressure.”
Just love.
Just warmth.
Just… Mom.
That alone makes my whole chest ache.
We talk a little longer. About Charlotte, still in Austin, buried under assignments. About Buckhorn. Mom asks if the McCoys have treated me kindly, and my throat tightens as I tell her they have. About Dad, neither of us says much more, because there’s nothing else to say.
We both know his patterns.
We both know how dangerous his anger can be when he feels embarrassed.
By the time I hang up, my shoulders feel lighter. My lungs feel fuller.
The storm outside is still raging, but my insides have calmed.
I hand the phone back to Maggie, murmuring a soft, “Thank you.”
She pats my arm. “Of course, sweetheart. Any time.”
As she turns back to the stove, I linger by the counter, staring out the window at the wall of white that has swallowed the ranch.
I should call someone else, I realize.
Maybe one of the girls from work.
Or… someone.
But I try to summon their faces and can’t. Not really. They were all Evan’s friends. Evan’s business connections. Evan’s people.
And none of them ever looked at me like they wanted to know me.
