son amour - j. potter

forty seven

TW: Slight Domestic Abuse

• • • • •

After Henry had finished crying, James came upstairs with plates of food for Beatrice and Henry. They took them gratefully, and Beatrice sat down beside Henry to eat.

I led James back downstairs, and we sat down at the breakfast nook to eat the spaghetti that he had made.

"How are they?" James asked.

I swallowed my food, "Henry's really upset, depressed really, and Bea is practically emotionless, which is worse. She shouldn't have to be the one taking care of everyone."

"Neither should you," James said softly, "It's not your fault that this happened, and it's not your fault that your mother has never known how to be a parent."

I set down my fork and it clattered against my plate.

"I haven't seen her yet, and I'm not sure if I want to," I admitted, "I don't even think that she'll leave the house for the funeral tomorrow."

James shook her head, "He was her husband-,"

"They might have still been married when he died, but she wasn't his wife for a long time."

James looked at me sadly, his eyes mirroring the pain that I was feeling.

"Thank you for lunch, well-, for everything," I added. "I should go see mummy dearest."

James clasped his hand over mine, the gold band of his ring cool against my fingers.

"Let me come with you, you don't have to carry his burden allow."

I contemplated for a minute before caving. "Okay, come on," I said softly as I tightened my grip on his hand.

We ascended the stairs, and turned down the corridor to my mum's bedroom. I could hear Henry and Beatrice talking in hushed voices from Henry's room as I brought my hand up to the door and knocked.

When there was no response, I opened the door slowly.

The lights were off, but the curtains were open, letting the pale afternoon light in through the open window. My mum was sitting in her chair by the window, a cigarette in her hand, and a blank stare on her pale, yet beautiful, face.

"Hello, Daphne," She spoke as I walked into the room, James trailing behind me. My mum didn't even look up at me, her gaze trained on something outside of the window.

I stepped into a patch of sunlight in the bedroom, "How are you?"

My mum looked at me, and I could see the black streaks of her makeup stained against her pale, pore less face.

She took a drag from her cigarette, "Well, your father's dead, you don't want to be apart of this family anymore, and your brother can't be bothered to ever come around, so how do you think that I'm feeling?"

I yanked the cigarette out of her skinny fingers and put it out in the ash tray. "You really should stop smoking," I said angrily, "And drinking, for that matter."

She looked at James, who was standing protectively behind me.

"This is really how you want to talk to your mother in front of your husband?" She asked.

"I'm only saying what needs to be said, I'm not saying it to be cruel."

My mother laughed softly, "You better be careful how you speak to me, Daphne, or else your beloved might decide to leave you."