Born To Die

My mother in law severs burnt cookies and moldy pbjs

Luke caught me just as I was about to head back to the conference room. His hand lightly gripped my arm, his expression unusually serious.

"Isla, can we talk for a second?"

I nodded, though the tension in his voice made me brace myself. We stepped into a quieter corner, away from the buzz of colleagues shuffling papers and chatting about the next agenda item.

"I want to go visit my mom," he said, straight to the point. His eyes searched mine, waiting for a reaction.

The words hit me like a stone in my chest. I hadn't thought about that house, or her, in years—not since we were thirteen, sneaking out the back door and vowing to
never look back. "Your mom?" I repeated, buying time, but his determined look told me he wasn't joking.

"Yeah. It's been eight years, Isla. It's time."

"It's not a good idea," I said quickly. Too quickly. "We're in the middle of this project, and you know what happened last time—"

"That was almost a decade ago!" His voice was quiet but firm. "We're not kids anymore. Things are different."

"Are they, though?" I challenged. My arms crossed, a reflex more than anything. "The last time we saw her, she—"

"She's still my mom," he cut in, his jaw tightening.

I sighed, trying to soften my tone. "I know that, Luke. I do. But what if it's not what you're hoping for? What if... she's still the same?" The memories pressed against the edges of my mind, threatening to spill over. The yelling, the slamming doors, the things she said that no kid should ever hear.

"She might be," he admitted, his voice low. "But I need to know. I need to see her, Isla. For me."

I didn't have an answer to that. I just stood there, staring at him, the weight of his words settling over me. How could I tell him no when I saw that flicker of hope in his eyes—the same flicker he'd had as a boy, waiting for things to get better?

The next morning came too fast, and before I knew it, we were packed and ready for the drive to Westport, Connecticut. Luke was already loading the last of his bag into the car when I stepped outside. The air was crisp, the kind of sharp autumn chill that hinted at the first frost.

"You sure about this?" I asked one last time, my voice quieter than I intended.

Luke didn't look at me right away, his hands tightening the straps on his duffle. "Yeah," he said, finally meeting my eyes. "I need to do this."

I nodded, knowing there was no point in pushing him. The truth was, I wasn't ready, but this wasn't about me. It hadn't been for a long time.

Chris waved us off from the dock, standing tall with his clipboard in hand. "Don't let Luke talk you into road trip karaoke!" he shouted, a grin splitting his face.

"Someone's got to keep her entertained," Luke shot back, sliding into the driver's seat.

I smiled, but it felt faint, as if the weight of the trip had already settled over me. "Take care of things while we're gone," I called out.

Chris saluted dramatically. "Aye, Captain."

With that, we pulled away from the pier, the ship—and our comfortable routine—fading into the distance. The hum of the engine filled the silence between us for the first hour, neither of us sure how to start. Luke's hands gripped the wheel, his knuckles white, and I fiddled with the hem of my jacket, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling.

"You think it'll be weird being back?" Luke asked finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was casual, but I could hear the edge underneath.

"Yeah," I admitted. "But that's kind of the point, isn't it?"