“Henrietta, it’s lovely to see you,” Jared greeted her in that practiced enthusiasm of his, then headed inside right past her.
I couldn’t move, my feet glued to the spot on the large front porch of my parents’ home. Going inside seemed like giving in. But I was so freaking exhausted since I’d refused to sleep during the drive. I wanted a nap.
“Your parents want you headed straight upstairs to get cleaned up,” Henrietta snapped at me, raising her eyebrows. “You best get moving before they see you standing there in those ratty clothes.”
I glared right back at her. “They aren’t ratty,” I retorted. “And I couldn’t care less what they see me in.” It may have been a lie, since for some reason I really did care—probably just being in that place brought back all the horrid memories of my mother dictating every piece of clothing I was allowed to wear—but it made a smirk tug at Henrietta’s lips.
“It’s your funeral, child.” She chuckled before following Jared into the foyer.
With a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold, everything in me screaming for me to run in the opposite direction. But I couldn’t. I was here. I had to face my past head on. The dark cherrywood floors were polished to an impeccable sheen, the area rugs bright red as usual. Fine tables and couches and knickknacks were all over the front sitting room, the front windows covered with gold drapes. My mom had gone overboard with the fancy shit, the clutter. I was her opposite in every single way. And she hated me for that.
I followed behind Henrietta and Jared down the long hallway that was lined with tall crystal-clear windows, past the spiraling stairs, where murmured voices flowed toward us, coming from the rear sitting area. We rounded the corner to find my parents sitting in the accent chairs that looked out the gigantic windows to the manicured backyard and the swimming pool. They stopped talking the moment they sensed us, both of their gazes snapping in our direction.
My mother was first to stand. Her pristine beige pencil skirt didn’t have a wrinkle in sight. Her light pink top that was mostly covered by a beige overcoat did little to brighten her hard expression. I never knew where I got my full lips, my oval eyes, or my pretty features in general. Though my mother may have been pretty at one point in her life, she was now battered with bitterness for who knew what, since she’d gotten the house, the life, of her dreams. She gave me a once-over, showing absolutely no emotion before her gaze jerked to Henrietta.
“I thought I told you to get her cleaned up,” she bristled at the housekeeper, who grimaced ever so slightly.
“And I told her I don’t need cleaning up,” I stated, taking my mother’s furious gaze head on.
My father stood beside her, his khaki pants perfectly pressed. His light brown hair was combed back, the golden eyes I’d inherited from him piercing me to that spot. “You will do what you are told while you are under our roof,” he told me, his tone even. He wasn’t as trained as my mom with the lifeless stare, since his face twisted when his gaze rested on my stomach.
“I will do no such thing when I’m taken against my will and brought back to my childhood home.” I forced myself to stand firm. They both gave me that lifeless stare, even when Jared snorted from his spot where he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I hated him with every fiber of my being. “I’m an adult now. I can do as I please and go wherever I please without you dictating my life.”
A smirk tugged at my mother’s lips, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arching up. I braced myself. “You think just because you had a few years on your own, you get to call the shots. You are mistaken. You had your fun, but now you’re back under our roof and you’d better toe the line or you will regret it. Once we’ve taken care of this problem—” She waved a hand at my stomach. I flinched away from her, wrapping my arms around it, around them, to protect them from the horrid woman. “—everything will go back to the way it’s supposed to be.”
“My babies are not a problem, you delusional woman,” I spat at her, my eyes wide with terror. What does she even mean by “take care of”?
Finally, an expression of emotion from both my parents in the form of wide, furious eyes. “Babies?” Jared said from his spot on the wall. I glanced at him, catching him staring at my stomach with disgust. “You mean there’s more than one in there?”
My father stepped closer but was looking at Jared before glancing back at my mom. “Take care of this,” he told her before telling Jared, “Come with me to the parlor, Jared, so we can have a word.”
Jared smiled when they walked past me. My stomach curdled. My father wanted her to take care of this. Not his daughter, not someone he loved, but the problem that was created, the spectacle of me being pregnant. She stared me down—or, more accurately, stared my stomach down. I kept my arms wrapped around it, even when her gaze met mine.
“You’ll find it not so easy to leave this time,” she informed me, clasping her hands in front of her, taking a step closer. “You may as well get comfortable. The doctor will be by in a few hours to talk about options. I suggest you get cleaned up. Henrietta will help you. You’re welcome to wander the grounds with supervision if you would like.”
“There are no other options aside from me leaving here with my babies. They are
