Stranger At My Door

15. The Truth We Fear

"She's sent you a message and tried to call you, so then she tried me," Amber's voice wavered, a nervous edge creeping in. "I told her we were shopping, and you'd popped to the toilet. But she's called two more times since, and I've ignored it." Her voice hit a higher pitch, the way it always did when she was stressed.

I barely registered her words, my focus shifting to my phone. Loretta had sent me a text—early, before dawn, asking where I was. She'd noticed we weren't home.

That wasn't like her.

My mother never cared enough to check on me. Her attention, when she spared it, was scattered, self-involved. This sudden concern, this burst of vigilance—something about it didn't sit right.

Ridge was watching me from across the room, his gaze sharp, as if he could sense the shift in my thoughts. My mind spun, trying to process her behaviour. It felt wrong. Suspicious.

"I told her we were shopping in town," Amber repeated, a touch of disbelief in her voice. "This is weird, Sam."

"Call her." Ridge's voice was low, controlled. "Call her and act normal. Give her some attitude, like, 'Why are you ringing off my phone?' Act like nothing's changed."

I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, my chest tightening. The idea of speaking to Loretta—no, Monica—made my stomach twist. She wasn't my mother. Not really. And knowing that now, after everything I'd just learned, how could I pretend? How could I act like everything was fine when my whole life was unravelling?

Ridge moved closer, the quiet rustle of his steps the only sound in the room. His hand rested lightly on my shoulder, a grounding presence, though his touch didn't ease the suffocating pressure in my chest. "You need to do this, Sam. She can't know that you know."

I swallowed, nodded once, then cleared my throat and dialled.

The phone barely rang half a beat before Loretta picked up, her voice tight, almost breathless. "Sam? Where are you?"

I could feel my pulse hammering against my ribs. "Mom, what is it? Why are you ringing Amber?" My voice, sharper than I intended, lashed through the air.

There was a pause—too long. Then, her response, brittle. "I had a call from Mr. Turner. He said you weren't at school."

I rolled my eyes, a knot of irritation tightening in my throat. "So? We skipped, to get something for Brad's memorial." I spat the words, letting my anger spill out. It wasn't entirely for show. I wasn't just acting—there was venom there, old wounds reopening.

Her pause lingered, and I imagined her standing in the kitchen, her fingers tapping the counter, calculating. "You don't get to speak to me like that, young lady," she finally snapped, but there was a tension under the words, a crack in the façade. "I'm your mother. I have every right to know where you are."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that cuts. "You never cared before. You know what? I don't want to talk to you. I'm staying with Amber, and I'm not coming home."

Without waiting for a response, I dropped the phone onto the table, the sound of it landing too loud in the silence that followed. My hands were trembling, but it wasn't from fear. The anger that had simmered under the surface for years was finally spilling over.

The room felt heavier. Ridge hadn't moved, but I could feel him watching, his gaze pressing into me. "That'll buy us some time," he said quietly, like he had expected this outcome. "You did good."

I let out a shaky breath, my hands running through my hair. "It wasn't even an act," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "It was real. I meant every word." My voice sounded foreign, bitter.