BROKEN HOPE (Broken Redemption Book 2)

Chapter 32

Emilia

Her harsh gaze cuts me down with the same hatred and venom I've grown accustomed to over the years. I'm not sure when she began looking at me this way. There's a possibility she may always have, but it was hidden in the shadows behind Daddy's goodness and light.

I know my conception was a surprise for both of them and after talking to Uncle David, I realize my entry into this world wasn't just unexpected; it was also a life sentence that forced two people together who weren't meant to be. It makes me wonder if that's where her bitterness stems from. My birth not only forced her into a marriage, it also left her stuck in a life she never wanted. Could that be why my mother hates me so much?

"You're making a terrible mistake. When are you going to realize I'm all you have? Your father is dead, which only leaves me, Emilia. Without me, you'll have no one left to help clean up your messes. You need me. The girls need me."

The way she softens her voice at the end brings tears to my eyes. That's the thing about my mom. She's a master at injecting genuine love and compassion into her words when the occasion suits her. It's what's so confusing about our relationship and why for years, I've twisted myself into knots attempting to please her. She knows how to appeal to that side of me who loves her unconditionally and who'd give anything to get her to love me back. It's outright manipulation, but damn it if it doesn't work on me each and every time.

Like he can sense my wavering, Lucas takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. That simple touch is enough to break me out of the claws of self-doubt my mother instills in me. His love not only soothes my aching heart, it grounds me, tethering me to reality, and saving me from falling for yet another one of her manipulations. With Lucas by my side, the fact my mother doesn't love me doesn't break me. Instead, it sets me free.

"I'll take my chances, Mother. Now get out."

It's not long before Lucas and I find ourselves alone. The moment I hear the front door shut behind them, it's like the ground sways beneath my feet.

"Hey, hey. Sweetheart..." he takes me in his arms, his hands reaching for my waist to steady me. "You alright? You look like you're about to pass out."

That would be because I am. Nausea rolls through me as the combination of the stress and smells of the uneaten food makes my stomach revolt.

"Bathroom..." It's all I get out before my hand goes to my mouth.

He whisks me into the guest bathroom, where he helps me to my knees and opens the toilet seat just as I heave. It happens again and again, my stomach purging itself of the poison inflicted by my mother and Harold as tears roll down my cheeks. When it finally stops and I come back to my senses, I'm horrified to find him squatting down beside me, his hand rubbing gentle circles along my back. To say I'm mortified is an understatement.

"Please leave me. Please," I beg, praying he does as I ask so I can clean myself up and hold on to what's left of my dignity.

"Emb, sweetheart, it's alright. Give me a second. I'll grab you a washcloth."

A second later, he's crouched beside me. Taking my face, he wipes away the tears and remnants of sickness from my skin. Unable to avoid his gaze, I watch as he takes in my ill appearance. The way his brows draw together in genuine concern goes a long way to easing the ache left behind by my mother.

As emotion pools in my throat, I stammer, "I-I'm sorry." As much as I appreciate what he's doing for me, part of me wishes he wasn't here to see me like this.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Here. Let's get you up so we can settle you upstairs."

Reaching down, he loops his arms around my legs, lifting me into his arms. With ease, he takes me up the stairs, and then through our room to the bathroom that adjoins with the girls' bedroom. There he sets me down on my feet, and like a sentry, he stands at my side as I wash my face and brush my teeth. When I'm done, he escorts me to the bed, helping me to lie down.