“I imagine it did.”
I opened my eyes. “She trusted me with her body. With all of that fear. But she wouldn’t trust me with the truth. She let me be safe in the dark and made me feel like nothing in the real world.”
My mother remained quiet for a few seconds before she said, “That is a very specific kind of hurt.”
I laughed once, without humor. “Yeah.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Yes.”
“Did she hear you?”
“I think so.”
“What did she ask from you?”
The words sat behind my teeth.
I hated them.
“She asked me to forgive her.”
My mother breathed out slowly. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
I let my head fall back against the couch. “Briggs asked me the same damn thing.”
“Briggs is smarter than people think.”
“He’d be thrilled to hear you say that.”
“Do not tell him. He’ll become unbearable.”
I almost smiled.
“Baby,” she said softly, “do you not forgive her, or are you afraid of what forgiving her means?”
I didn’t answer because the question hit a place none of the guys had reached.
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“Forgiveness isn’t the same as pretending it was fine,” she said. “And it isn’t the same as trust being rebuilt overnight. Forgiveness is a decision about what you stop using as a weapon. Acceptance is the harder part.”
My brow pulled together. “Acceptance?”
“Yes.” Her voice stayed gentle, but steel ran through it. “Accepting that this terrible thing happened before you. Accepting that it shaped how she loved you. Accepting that what she did to survive also wounded you. Accepting that she can be both a victim of something awful and responsible for how she hurt you afterward. Accepting that you love someone who did not love you your way because she did not know how.”
My chest tightened.
“That doesn’t mean you excuse it,” Mom continued. “It means you stop arguing with the reality of it. You can’t fight the past into becoming kinder. You can only decide what you do with the truth now that it’s in the room.”
I stared at my bandaged hand.
The truth now that it’s in the room.
Aura had put it there. Finally. Brutally. Too late and still somehow right on time because if Maddox hadn’t opened his vile mouth, I didn’t know if either of us would have stopped bleeding long enough to name the wound.
“I told her love wasn’t enough,” I said.
