Chapter 10: The Mother I Lost
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
Come alone, Flora.
Three words.
Three words that should have been impossible.
Because the person who sent them was supposed to be a memory.
A photograph.
A name spoken only in whispers.
My mother.
For fifteen years, I had lived with one painful truth.
She left.
That was what everyone told me.
She walked away.
She chose a different life.
She chose not to come back.
I was twelve years old when she disappeared.
Old enough to remember the sound of her voice.
Young enough to believe every explanation adults gave me.
My father told me she needed time.
My brothers told me she loved me.
But nobody ever told me why she never returned.
And now she was asking me to come alone.
My father noticed the expression on my face.
“What did she say?””
I locked the phone.
“Nothing.””
His face changed immediately.
“Flora.””
I looked at him.
“You knew.””
It wasn’t a question.
My father went still.
Noah looked between us.
“Dad?””
Silence.
That was all it took.
The truth had a way of arriving before people were ready.
“You knew she was alive.””
My father closed his eyes.
“Flora.””
“No.””
My voice shook.
“Don’t say my name like that.””
He looked hurt.
Good.
I needed him to feel a fraction of what I felt.
“For fifteen years, I thought my mother abandoned me.””
“She didn’t.””
“Then why did you let me believe it?””
No answer.
The balcony became unbearably quiet.
Finally, my father spoke.
“Because she asked me to.””
I stared.
“She asked you?””
He nodded.
“She was trying to protect you.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone loves that word.””
Protect.
A word that had become an excuse for every lie.
My father stepped closer.
“She was in danger.””
My expression changed.
“What?””
Noah looked at him.
“Dad.””
My father looked toward the ballroom.
At Isaac.
At the Vance family.
Then back at me.
“There are things you don’t understand about the past.””
I tightened my grip on the photograph.
“Then explain.””
He hesitated.
And that hesitation hurt more than anything.
Because it meant there was still more.
More secrets.
More pieces of my life that belonged to everyone except me.
“Your mother discovered something,” he said.
“What?””
“She found out the Vance family wasn’t the only one hiding things.””
My heart sank.
My father continued.
“She uncovered a financial network involving several powerful families.””
I frowned.
“Including ours?””
His silence answered.
I stepped back.
“No.””
“Flora—”
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You’re telling me my mother disappeared because she found something?””
“Yes.””
“And you hid it from me?””
“Yes.””
The honesty hurt.
But at least it was finally honesty.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
I looked down.
The location.
A small abandoned greenhouse outside Cedar Hollow.
A place I knew.
A place from my childhood.
My mother used to take me there.
Before she vanished.
Noah saw the address.
“You’re not going.””
I looked at him.
“I am.””
“No.””
His voice became firm.
“Flora, this could be a trap.””
I looked at him.
“Everything tonight was a trap.””
He went silent.
I lowered my voice.
“I spent years believing I was the person everyone needed to protect.””
I held up the phone.
“But nobody asked what I wanted.””
My father looked at me.
“You shouldn’t go alone.””
I nodded.
“You’re right.””
A flicker of relief crossed his face.
Then I continued.
“I’m going anyway.””
Noah sighed.
“That sounds exactly like Mom.””
The words froze me.
Because I had forgotten.
Everyone always said I was like her.
My patience.
My stubbornness.
My refusal to give up on people.
Maybe that was why losing her hurt so much.
Because a part of me had always been waiting for her to come back.
I walked back into the ballroom.
Isaac looked at me immediately.
He looked exhausted.
Broken.
But I felt nothing.
Not anymore.
“Flora.””
I stopped.
“What?””
He swallowed.
“I need to talk to you.””
I stared.
“About what?””
“About everything.””
I almost smiled.
“Funny.””
He looked confused.
“What?””
“You had years to tell me the truth.””
I stepped closer.
“You chose tonight.””
His eyes lowered.
“I was wrong.””
“Yes.””
The answer surprised him.
Because I didn’t soften it.
“I was wrong,” he repeated.
I looked at him.
“And now you have to live with that.””
Then I walked away.
Because for the first time in fifteen years, there was someone I needed answers from.
Someone who had been missing.
May you like
Someone who had been waiting.
My mother.
