MOMMY ISSUES | Tamber

21

The cozy cafe bustled with the light chatter of patrons and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Nestled in a corner booth, Tara fidgeted with the silverware, her eyes fixed on Sam as she approached. With each click of her sister's heels, the furrow in Tara's brow deepened.

Sam slid into the opposite bench, her penetrating stare lingering on Tara's burgeoning midsection before meeting her gaze with a stony expression.

"I'm glad you agreed to meet me," Sam said coolly.

Tara attempted to feign lightness. "Well, you said it was important. What's going on?"

But Sam didn't bite. Her scrutiny remained unyielding, as if searching for fractures in whatever facade Tara presented. Leaning forward with her elbows on the table, Sam spoke with blunt directness, her voice low and intent.

"The baby... it's not Amber's, is it?"

Tara tensed almost imperceptibly, her eyes skating away to stare blindly across the cafe's milling crowd. She bit the inside of her cheek, battling the recent trauma summoned by Sam's words.

She said nothing, but her silence was confirmation enough. Disappointment etched deep lines into Sam's face as she leaned back.

"Jesus, Tara... why didn't you tell me?" Sam rasped, her voice gravelly.

"Because I knew you'd just try to stop me," Tara replied hoarsely.

Sam's incredulous outrage bubbled over. "Of course I—! My god, Tara, surely you don't mean to claim that... degenerate's assault as some perverse form of conception?! How could you say that—"

"Don't you dare cast judgment on me!" Tara's voice heated with loathing. "You have no idea what it's like, the hell I've endured just—!"

She cut herself off, struggling to regain composure as her chest hitched with unvoiced anguish. Sam leaned forward instinctively, taken aback by the virulence of Tara's reaction.

After a moment, Tara continued in a jagged whisper, "After everything, this—" She gingerly touched her belly. "This is the one good thing left to me, Sam. The one pure possibility that hasn't been soiled by..." Her voice trailed off haggardly.

Her gaze finally captured Sam's, bereft but chillingly resolute. "I'm keeping this baby. And come hell or high water, I won't let anyone poison it like my life has been poisoned. Not even you."

Sam blinked, stunned into speechlessness by the raw candor bleeding through Tara's fracturing public facade. Between them loomed the awful majesty of Tara's steadfast determination, sharp enough to cut them both apart with its barbed beauty.

Finally, Sam found her voice, a strangled rasp. "Then why... why tell Amber it's hers? That monster doesn't deserve a single molecule of your child!"

"Because she's not a monster to me, Sam. She's my safe harbor amidst the wreckage." Tara pinned her sister with an unwavering stare, etched with the indelible lines of her hardening mettle.

"I told her the baby is hers so she'll never consider how it was actually made. I won't give her reason to even fathom the depravity that led to this—this gift. I'm moving past that nightmare. With or without you."

Sam regarded her youngest sibling as if seeing a total stranger behind those adamant eyes. This pale, fierce vision of internalized suffering and stubborn grace culminated in one irrevocable vow of release.

A tremor crossed Sam's mouth, uncertainty carving new lines across her facade. Tara matched her stare for stare, immovable in her transfigured conviction.

Moments later, Sam exited the cafe at a clipped pace, her shoulders taut and defenses snapped back into place. The cafe door swung shut behind her, muffling the low din and snaring Tara in its insular silence.

Tara remained at the booth, a small hand curving protectively over the swell of her belly. Her cupped palm rose and fell minutely with each measured inhalation.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, her lips parted around two whispered words, uttered with the first uncurdled fragments of serenity: "My baby..."

In the wake of this seismic shift, one core truth remained inviolate amidst the persisting maelstrom. Tara's sole priority had transcended all other allegiances. Her consecrated purpose was singular now, the first gleamings of a brighter future kindling in her lionheart's depths.

A restoration commenced as a tiny soul awaited its spark of pure becoming. No matter the cost.