Betrayed On My Wedding Eve Chapter 22

Betrayed On My Wedding Eve Chapter 22

Maybe because he’d shared first.

I found it easier to say.

“My mother died. My father and I. We’re not in contact.”

My mother’s funeral had been crowded. Dark clothing everywhere. The officiant gave a long speech. I zoned out somewhere in the middle.

A butterfly flew into the room. Landed on her portrait.

Its wings moved. The photo seemed to come alive for a moment.

I watched her smile at me. And I smiled back.

The next second, my father knocked me off my feet.

“Your mother is dead. How can you smile?”

Everyone stared. Like I was something wrong.

I started crying.

He hit me again.

“I haven’t even cried yet! What are you crying for! Cry again and I’ll throw you out. I don’t want you anymore!”

I was terrified. I pressed the tears back in. Bit down on my lip and made no sound.

The first year after she died, my father would sit in the living room at night going through her letters and photos.

The second year, he boxed everything up. Left it in the corner to gather dust.

The third year, he remarried.

My stepmother threw the boxes into the yard and tried to burn them.

I dug out my mother’s camera and held it to my body while the fire got close. Burned myself across the arms.

After that, the camera was all I had left of her.

Then my half-sister was born.

All the love in the house went to her.

I lived there invisibly until I was eighteen, then left for college. Journalism.

The day I moved out, my father handed me a stack of bills.

“You’re grown. Don’t come back.”

Thirty thousand dollars. That was the price of the blood between us.

After that, my professors and classmates said I was a natural journalist. Unflappable. Nothing rattled me, no matter how brutal the scene.

In the field, that became a strength.

But I knew the truth.

I didn’t dare.

I was terrified that if I let myself laugh too freely, cry too openly, something else would be taken from me.

I let out a breath when I finished.

I’d never told anyone any of that before.

Julian’s brow was deeply furrowed. The smile he usually wore was completely gone.

“Lena.”

His voice was careful.

“Do you remember? You were five years old.”

“What?”

“Laughing and crying. That’s what children do.”

“You’ve been suppressing everything. Only because no one ever let you just be a kid.”