CHAPTER 1
WILLOW
"I'm getting married today."
I froze, staring blankly at her, expecting her to burst into deep laughter and tell me she was just kidding—that it was some prank, probably April Fool's Day.
A second passed, then another, until it ticked into minutes, yet she didn't utter a word.
"You are what?!" I said, my voice in a whisper.
"I am getting married, and today." She answered, stroking her finger through the brim of hot morning tea.
Like the usual mornings, we would sit together while she listed out our problems and my shortcomings.
I sat, I always listened, holding back the tears that always threatened to fall, gripping the pieces of my broken heart, wishing her taunts would end.
But now, staring at her nonchalant expression after she dropped a bomb on me, I wished I could go back to the mornings where she taunted me.
"When?! Where? Who?!" I rushed my questions.
"It was bound to happen." She said.
"But—"
"But nothing, Willow." She cut off my words. "This is common; it happens. Your father died seven years ago; I have mourned him well." She reached for my hands across the table, clutching them. "Dear, we should move on. Dwelling on the past won't help you or me. It hasn't gotten us anything this far."
If she had told me this five years ago, then maybe, just maybe, I would have believed and been comfortable with this.
"I know, Mom, but we are just fine. You don't need to—"
"I do."
"But—"
"Will, dear. I can't just keep living like this. This wasn't what I planned for my life. Your father died, and the only thing he left was debts upon debts upon debts. We can't live like this, I can't keep living like this."
Emotion swelled at the base of my throat and I forced the tears and sniffles back down. "If it's about the debt, then you shouldn't worry. I will take up extra jobs, I will work overtime, but we will clear it. You don't need to get married."
"You don't get it!" she suddenly yelled. Any trace of the warm, caring, and loving mother from two seconds ago disappeared into thin air, as fast as if it never existed. "You don't get it!" Her eyes widened and her grip on my hand tightened. Yet I dared not scream, nor show a hint of pain.
I was used to this, her switching up. One minute she was loving and caring, and the next she was vicious, heartless, and saying vile words.
"It's not about the debt! It is not about you. It's about me! What I want."
"Mom, I—I know, but we are fine. We are living in peace; both of us are together and stronger together. We have faced so much hardship; we have worked hard enough to get us where we are, and with time, we will get where we want." I tried to reason with her, hoping it might calm her down.
She rolled her dark blue eyes, which mirrored mine, lines of anger etched in her forehead. "For how long?! You want us to sit here and thrive in poverty, paying off the debt your useless father—"
"Mom."
"Oh, shut it!" She barked, slamming the cup of tea onto the table. It splashed onto my hands. "I am sick and fucking tired of this! Of this life. Don't I deserve happiness, huh? I wasn't born to suffer to death." She screamed more. "Why can't you stop being selfish? You are just like your father, useless and self-centered. After everything I have done for you, I gave birth to you, I raised you, I loved you, I made sure you felt protected. I always dropped everything to help you, so why?! Why are you being heartless?" Her words stabbed a dagger through my heart, slow and painful.
"Why?! Finally, I have found happiness! I finally found a way to better my life, to give myself everything I deserve, so why are you standing in the way?"
She was right.
I had always been in her way.
She was always too busy caring for me to care for herself. She always made sure I was covered up when I walked to school alone in the cold.
She always loved me; she was always there, and after Father died, she didn't leave. She stayed, encouraging me to do my best.
All because of her, I had three paying jobs at the age of twelve, enough to shoulder the responsibility of the house.
At fourteen, I had more, working overtime, overnight, and different kinds of jobs. She never left; she was there with me.
I forced down the bile that clogged at the base of my throat.
"You think taking part-time jobs would clear all your father's debt? You think it will give me the life I want, the life I deserve?"
"No," I answered, my voice rough and heavy with unshed emotions. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so selfish; you deserve the best." I raised my teary gaze to meet hers. "I agree to the marriage, anything that makes you happy."
"I wasn't asking for your permission, but glad you came to your senses." She paused, her gaze meeting my hands. "Oh my God, your hands, Willow." I narrowed my gaze down to where the hot tea had splashed, leaving a faint purple color. "My baby, I didn't mean to hurt you." She wiped the tea away, stalked closer, and hugged me.
I didn't talk; I didn't have to. I was used to this.
Her mood swings, her eccentric behavior… they always scared me as a child, but now I was almost invincible.
Emphasis on almost.
"Don't worry, your hand will be fine." She muttered, her voice filled with affection. I would have sworn she wasn't the same person screaming at me a few seconds ago.
I let a tear slip down my face.
I'm Willow Carson, and this is my messed-up life.
~ ~ ~ ~
The day went by so quickly and sore enough, my mother had left to get married. She didn't say I should come, nor did I ask. All she said was to pack up.
And that's exactly what I did: cleaning, packing, and getting myself ready for the new life that awaited me.
Only God knew the kind of man she had married.
Was he older or younger?
Was he nice?
Did he even love her?
I shook the thought away; surely he did. My mom is the best in the world. Yes, she had her moments, but she still cared.
"Snap out!" I jolted myself out of my trance at her voice. My gaze pinged from her to the driver, whom my supposed stepfather sent, and to the black-tinted Lamborghini upfront. "Will you get in, or should we leave without you?"
"I'm sorry." I hurried over to the car, which the driver opened for me. I thanked him, then sank into the car that smelt like fine leather dipped in luxury.
"Don't stare, you are embarrassing me," Mother said sharply by my side.
The driver sped out, out of the place I once called home, to whatever awaited me.
"Dear, please listen to me." She spoke calmly. "When you arrive there, please behave normally." I furrowed my eyebrows, confused. "You know what I mean, don't act like a snail, be good and respectful."
"I… I will."
"Don't worry, your father will take care of us."
"Stepfather," I corrected, and she pinned me with a death stare. "I mean, Father."
The driver pulled up in front of a flight of stairs that stood at the front of the enormous mansion. We stepped out, and my mother began adjusting the slender white gown she wore, which made her look stunning, like an angel.
Just then, the air shifted, dropping to a lower temperature, and the scent of fine wood dipped in cinnamon peppered the air.
I lifted my gaze up and up until I met his gaze. Dark green eyes bored back at me.
"Honey." Mother called out.
So he is my stepfather.
A se
nse of familiarity struck me.
I knew him.
A grin converged onto his lips as he spoke. "Welcome home, sweetheart."