Page 118 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I lifted my gaze to hers, letting her see the ice there. “Get out of my home.”

Her brows drew in, confusion sharpening across her face. “What are you saying? I just asked—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish. I walked past her into the room, pulled her suitcase from the closet, flipped it open on the bed, and began dumping armfuls of her clothes inside.

Her voice, sharp with alarm, came from the doorway. “Alessia! What are you doing?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory. I’m kicking you out.” I swept a pile of silk blouses off a hanger and into the growing chaos of the suitcase.

Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, stopping me. “Alessia, stop. I’m not leaving.”

I wrenched my arm free, the force making her stumble back a step. “Yes. You are. Go to a hotel. Sleep on a bench. I don’t give a fuck anymore. Just get out.”

Her eyes locked onto mine, stubborn conviction written across her face. “No. You need me here.”

The words were so absurd I physically recoiled, taking a full step back. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? It sounded like you said I need you.”

Her expression didn’t waver. “You do.”

A laugh burst from me—harsh, disbelieving, a full-body convulsion of bitter amusement. “That’s hilarious, Mother,” I said. “Your sense of humor’s finally improving. Too bad I won’t be around to hear the rest of your jokes.” I reached for the last of her blouses.

Her hands landed on my shoulders, her fingers gripping them as she begged me to stop. “Alessia, please. I can’t leave. Just let me stay.”

I stepped away from her. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you were in a hospital bed. And I wasn’t there.” The confession came out rough and uneven. “I didn’t even know. No one called. No one even thought to.”

Her fingers curled inward, nails biting crescents into her palms. “Why would they? I wasn’t there for your childhood. I missed everything. Every scraped knee, every nightmare. Every single part of your life where a mother should have been.” Her eyes filled. “I missed all of it.”

“Spare me the monologue. I’ve heard it all before.”

“No, you haven’t,” she whispered. “Because I’ve never said it right.”

She took a tiny step closer, hands trembling at her sides. “I want to say it right this time. I’m here because I thought… maybe I could finally do it right. Maybe I could find the right thing to say.” Her lips pressed together, suppressing a tremor. “Every time I look at you, I see everything I missed. Everything I ruined.”

Her eyes held mine, refusing to let me look away.

“And I almost lost you for good.” Her face crumpled. “I don’t want to miss anything again. I want to make things better. I want to try.”

Heat surged up my throat, scorching the back of it and leaving every swallow painfully scraped and burning. The sensation climbed higher, filling my mouth with a bitter sting that made me fight the urge to gag.

“Stop. Lying.” I took a step forward. “That’s not why you’re here.” My mind raced, the pieces clicking into place. “You know about the divorce. That’s the reason, isn’t it? Your little legacy project fell through, so you’re back to try again. Is that it? You want to do it right this time? Find me a new husband?”

She looked as if I’d struck her. Pain and betrayal flashed in her eyes before she could hide it. “That’s not why I’m here.”

She lowered her eyes, shame weighing heavily across her features. “I know that’s what I told you the last time you asked, but it wasn’t the truth.” Her head lifted, eyes meeting mine with startling directness. “I never cared about an heir.”

A dry, disbelieving scoff tore from me. “Fucking liar.”

She spoke so quietly that I almost didn’t hear her. “I know that’s how it looks. But I’m not lying right now. I lied then because…” She winced, as if the memory still stung. “Because of how you looked at me when you asked why I’d come back. You didn’t believe I could want you for you. You needed a reason that fit into your world. Something transactional. Something you could understand.”

Her shoulders sank. “So I gave you one.”

Sadness hollowed her expression. “I told myself… maybe this is all we’ll ever be. You never trusting my intentions. Me always having to give you a ‘purpose’ for being here.” A fragile, wounded sound escaped her. “I made peace with that. Because at least… even if you never trusted me… I still got to see you. I got to hear your voice.”

Her voice thinned, trembling but clear. “But I was still running, hiding behind a lie because the truth felt too vulnerable. The truth is… I came back because I wanted to know you. Not because of heirs, or duty, or some grand legacy plan.” She drew in a shaky breath, then forced the words out. “I didn’t leave when you were a child because I didn’t want you. I left because I was a terrified girl who had been forced into a cage, and I saw only one way out. I thought getting free was the only way to survive. But all I did was abandon you to a monster. That is my failure. My shame.”

She took one small step closer. “When I heard about the accident… the ground disappeared beneath me. I almost lost you without ever having been your mother.”