Whispers of Deceit.

Chapter 12

A month has passed since Helen’s so-called “accident.” The truth? She’s perfectly fine. Released the very next morning with nothing but a splint on her wrist for a minor sprain, the doctor assured her it would heal within a week. But of course, she still wears it, or so Jared has told me.

I haven’t seen her since that day she showed up at our door, demanding to see Jared. It was an unsettling encounter—her presence seemed to fill the room with a palpable tension, as if she were a storm cloud intent on darkening our lives. Jared has seen her twice since the incident: once a week after she was released from the hospital, and then again just this morning.

He tells me she called him, claiming she was scared and needed him. I can’t shake the feeling of dread that settles in my gut. I know he’s frustrated with her, but despite everything, he still feels obligated to check on her. It infuriates me—how can he care for someone who uses manipulation like a weapon?

The air in our house feels different now, charged with an undercurrent of tension. I spend my days trying to focus on work, throwing myself into my animations, but all I can think about is Helen’s grip on Jared. He has taken two days off work to be with her, and usually I would not mind, but I this circumstance she does not really need him and its two days wasted.

When Jared finally comes home, he looks exhausted, the weight of the world etched into the lines of his face. “Hey,” he says, trying to sound cheerful, but I can see right through it.

“Hey,” I reply, my heart racing. “How’s she doing?”

I don’t actually give a fuck how she is doing, to be honest.

He lets out a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the sofa beside me. “She’s... fine. Acting like nothing ever happened. Just scared about falling again.”

“Is she? Or is she just trying to get your attention?” I can’t help the bitterness that seeps into my voice.

“Lia, I know she fell on purpose,” he replies, his frustration simmering just below the surface. “But that doesn’t mean I can ignore her.”

“But why do you feel obligated to look after her? She’s your mother, yes, but she’s also toxic!” I shoot back, anger bubbling up. “Every time you go to her, it’s like you’re giving her power over you. Don’t you see how damaging that is?”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “I don’t want to cut her off completely. She’s still my mum, and despite everything, I care about her.”

“I get that,” I say, my voice softening, trying to meet him halfway. “But caring for her doesn’t mean you have to let her manipulate you.”

He looks away, the conflict evident in his eyes. “I know that, but she makes me feel so guilty every time.”

“Then help her without losing yourself in the process. You can check in on her without being her emotional crutch,” I urge. “You have to set boundaries, don’ forget, the fall was fabricated to drive a wrench between us, and that is exactly what is going to happen if you keep being at her beck and call. She is the boy that cried wolf.”

For a moment, we stand in silence, the tension thick and heavy between us. I can see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between loyalty and self-preservation. I reach out, gently grasping his arm. “I want to support you, but you have to let me in. You have to stand up to her.”

His shoulders slump, and for the first time, I see the weight of the situation truly settling on him. “You’re right. I know you’re right,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just hard to figure out how to balance everything.”

“Then let’s figure it out together,” I say softly, my heart aching for him. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’ll help you set those boundaries.”

He looks at me, and in that moment, I can see a flicker of resolve igniting behind his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, we can face this together. But as he pulls me into an embrace, I can’t shake the feeling that navigating his relationship with his mother will be more complicated than it seems. Helen may be out of the hospital, but her influence isn’t going anywhere.



For the rest of the evening, we avoid the topic of his mother, which comes as a relief. It feels like all we’ve done lately is talk about her, and while I appreciate the break from the baby conversations, I’d still rather discuss anything else than his deceitful, manipulative mother. Honestly, at this point, I’d even prefer talking about babies again.

Jared and I spend the rest of the evening watching TV, though we mostly end up talking over the show. He shares a story about some ridiculous stunt his colleague pulled yesterday, and I vent about how these animations are giving me a hard time, with the client being incredibly picky about every revision I send back.

By the time we head to bed, it’s already 11 p.m. Jared falls asleep almost instantly, but I stay awake, scrolling mindlessly through social media. I’m deliberately putting off sleep, knowing that tomorrow will likely be filled with more of the same—endless talk about Helen—and that’s the last thing I need right now.