She nods. “And he uncovered … all kinds of nasty things about Henry Zabka.”

The argument.

The big blowup that sent us fleeing Beauty in the middle of the night.

The argument was a little bit about me, yes.

But it was really about my father.

I shake my head as tears fall. “No, no, no.”

“I tried to keep you away from it,” she says, taking off her glasses again to wipe at her eyes. “I tried so hard. I didn’t want you to hate him like I hated him. I didn’t even want to believe it myself. I thought it was just your grandmother trying to be controlling. She’s done that before with my life. This wasn’t the first time the meddlesome old bat tried to ruin my relationship with someone—”

Her voice breaks.

She swallows and starts again.

“However, I took a second look at what her private detective uncovered, and … it was pretty damning. A few months later, I contacted the university and got him fired. Well. Quietly dismissed—that’s what they called it. They promised he’d never know it was me who came forward, if I agreed not to sue. That’s when he went back to LA and his career really took off. Which was depressing, honestly. It felt like he was being rewarded, and we were … left behind to fend for ourselves.”

“Mom—”

“So screw him. If you’re talented in any way, then I choose to think that you inherited that from me, not from him. Because once upon a time, I was talented too.”

I’m shocked.

Devasted.

I don’t know what to say.

The lines on my mom’s face harden. “So yes, I may be a terrible mother. And I know I haven’t been present. I hate myself for that—I hate being depressed, and I hate that you notice it, because more than anything, I wish I could keep you in a bubble, nice and safe, so you’d never have to know any of these things, and you’d never be hurt or unhappy. If I could have one wish in life, I would spend it on that.”

“I’m not a child, Mom!” I say, exasperated. “I haven’t been for a long time. You could have told me this years ago!”