Chapter Thirty-One

I make it through the week, just barely.

I called into work on Monday because I hadn’t quite recovered from the bomb that was dropped on me Friday night. Now, after days of self-isolation and ignoring all of my texts and phone calls, I finally venture out and land on my parents’ doorstep that following Sunday afternoon.

My mother opens the door and I quite literally collapse into her arms.

“Cora… sweetheart,” she says in that familiar, soothing tone as she strokes my hair. “What happened?”

Oh, nothing much. Just suffered through the worst four months of my entire life, only to have my heart smashed to smithereens just when I finally see a break in the clouds.

I blubber like a sobbing idiot against her shoulder as she pulls me into the house and shuts the door.

“He left,” I croak.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be falling apart in front of the woman who was almost Dean’s mother-in-law—through Mandy. It’s twisted, and it just makes me cry harder.

But I really need my mom right now.

“Cora, honey, let’s go upstairs and talk.”

I collect myself enough to wobble up the staircase and dive beneath the covers of the bed in the guestroom. My mother slides in beside me, wrapping her arms around me and just letting me cry for a while. It feels good to be stripped down and comforted after a week of braving the storms alone.

Dean used to be those comforting arms, but he’s gone now.

My hair is damp from tears as she brushes it away from my face, whispering words of solace against my forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I nod. I do, I really do—but I don’t know how. “I’m just not sure how to talk to you about this. I’ll sound like a huge hussy.”

“I’m your mother, Cora. I would never think of you like that. Dad and I are very aware of the situation that unfolded, and while it was an unexpected shock, we never judged you or thought any less of you.”

“How?” I glance at her through bloodshot eyes. “I judged me. I’m still judging me.”

“Because we love you… unconditionally.”

I swallow a sticky lump in my throat, nuzzling against her warmth. “None of this was supposed to happen. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

My mother continues to caress my hair, my cheek, all the way down my arm and back up again. The motions tame my erratic heart. She lets a few moments slide in silence as I soak up the temporary peace, and then she speaks. “This reminds me of your junior year of high school when you were bedridden for six days with mono,” she reminisces, her hand continuing its climb and descent. “You were so sick. You could hardly get out of bed.”

“You would hold me like this every night and sing me lullabies. I was so embarrassed and told you to leave because I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I secretly loved it.” A wistful smile washes over me. “It made me feel better.”