Chapter 82

“Hello?”

My mother’s voice is shrill on the other end. “What have you done, Esme?”

I narrow my eyes, confused by the direct question with no indication of where it’s going. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

“First, I find out you’re divorced, and now I find out Ryan is going on trial?”

I sit down on my couch. “I told you I was divorcing Ryan. Just because you tried to guilt me into staying with him didn’t mean I’d listen.”

“Esme! What are people going to say about you? And what are these charges on Ryan? The news won’t reveal more than these charges came from your lawyers?”

“Mom,” I sigh. “Ryan did multiple illegal things to me. I don’t want to sit here explaining myself. You don’t hear a word out of my mouth. You just assume Ryan is innocent, and I’m wrong.”

“He was your husband,” Angie growls.

“And he tried to rape me!” I snap back. My teeth clench inside my mouth as I tremble. “He broke the restraining order on me! He stalked me! Threatened me! Does none of that matter to you?!”

I can feel my hand clutching my phone tighter. A lump grows inside my throat as I force my body not to cry or explode.

But Angie says nothing. She sits silently on her end of the phone, and I finally lose the battle inside. Hot, painful tears make their way down my cheeks. Stupid hormones.

“You…this happened to you?” Angie finally voices.

Scoffing, I sniff into the phone. “Another thing you don’t believe me on. Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Don’t say such things.”

“Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t admit to you that things have never been as easy as you seem to believe? Don’t talk badly about the man I’m no longer married to?”

Angie groans on her end. “Esme, no, stop this. I’m asking you a question. When did he do this? Is this why you wanted to leave him?”

“He got Melinda pregnant before me. He kicked me out and moved in with my cousin. Then she lost her own baby, and Ryan ran away. He mentally abused me before finally losing it, and he tried to break me in the only way he had left!”

More pain emanates from my body while I keep wiping away my tears. God, it would be great if I could keep my emotions to myself. I don’t want to argue with my mom anymore.

“He’s going to jail because he tried to rape you?”

“Why do you keep repeating it?”

“Because I need to hear you tell me the truth. You’re my daughter, Esme. I want to know what the bastard did, especially if he hurt you physically.”

“You didn’t give a shit when he cheated on me,” I huff out. I massage the lump in my throat.

“I never said that.” Defending herself might be the only thing she has right now. “I didn’t want you to make a mistake and leave the man just because you had a disagreement.”

I roll my eyes and lean my head back over the couch. “You really believe that everyone else is the innocent. How many years did I have to listen to you tell me I was the one getting in my own way?”

Again, Angie is quiet.

“Look, I’m going to say this one time, and then I’m not repeating myself. That man isn’t good. He has a dark, angry temper with no regard for anyone else’s heart or mind. I don’t love Ryan. I don’t have any desire to be near him again. He could have killed me, and you would have stood at my funeral finding a way to blame me again!”

I clench my eyes close, more tears burning my cheeks.

“I would rather not have a father than have one who abused me. I am tired of running in circles and constantly repeating the cycle of harm. You have no idea what I’ve been through in my life because it wasn’t approved by you.”

My memory starts racing wildly as my childhood flashes before me. Hearing those noises, knowing I wasn’t safe, feeling immense pressure to pretend I was always well behaved and happy.

Running to my mom to tell her something bad had happened just to be dismissed as being overdramatic.

Telling Derek that I’d been abused.

Knowing I’d never be free of the painful abuse cycle.

“Esme.”

Her voice is soft, and I swear I almost miss the single word from her end. I don’t say anything. What can she possibly do now that she never did before?

And that’s when I hear it. Angie, my mother, breaking down on the phone. These aren’t simply silent tears. She starts to cry, wail, and break down each second.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She sputters and sniffs.

“Tell you what?” I demand. “That Ryan was a bad husband? I tried—”

“No!” She interrupts strongly. “Esme Thorne, were you…did a family member touch you? Were you…molested?” She whispers the final word like it’s poisonous.

I sit there, aghast. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I read between the lines. You said you don’t want to repeat any harm. And if Ryan hurt you, then that means you were hurt before. And if there was a before where I didn’t hear you, it had to mean what you tried to tell me when you were a little girl.”

She did hear what I said. As I hid under furniture with my ears plugged, crying after I’d been touched somewhere I didn’t like—nightmares of family members taking me to live with them. My mother brushing me off like I was dramatic.

“It finally makes sense,” she tries to laugh between her tears. “You’ve been holding secrets that I wasn’t ready to hear.”

“You didn’t want to hear my words,” I correct her. “You would reach out to fix my hair or fix my clothing, and I pulled away. I was scared of family. I was a vulnerable child and no one cared!”

“I’m sorry!” Angie gasps. “I didn’t want—or mean to—ignore your pain.”

“But you did. And now I’m thirty, you can’t fix anything from my childhood. I will not continue to be treated like I’m still a little girl and take the abuse.”

“Baby, I promise, I didn’t realize how serious this was.”

I wipe my nose with my arm. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

I can still tell she’s crying.

“My sweet Esme. If I’d realized how bad things were…if I had paid attention…I’m so sorry, sweetie. I love you and wish there was anything I could do to show you that.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything.”

A huff. “I know. But I’m sorry I never listened. I should have noticed. I should have been right there, defending you to anyone who mistreated you.”

My hand lands on my belly, knowing that the baby must be going through all these emotions with me. I haven’t even told mom about it. I guess it’s a cycle in it of itself.

Do I tell her?

Do I bother to be open with her?

“Can I see you? Come to see you? I…I do love you, Esme. I hope you don’t think anything less."

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel.

“Maybe.”

“I love you,” she repeats.

“I gotta go, Mom.” I can’t take this anymore. “I’ll talk to you later.”

And I hang up without another word, burying my face in my hands.