Nina |18+|

36

THEO

"Oh my God," Nina whispered to herself, rushing out of her chair and down the hall. "I'm a mess."

I opened my mouth—hoping to catch her attention, but she disappeared into the room and left no room for me to speak. I wanted to tell her that there was no need for her to fix herself up, but noises of cupboards and drawers opening and closing could be heard.

I smiled as I approached the door, still reeling from Nina's words. I love you. There wasn't a thing in the world that made me happier. I wanted to hear her say it over and over again.

My smile dropped the moment I remembered who was on the other side of the door. It morphed into a distasteful frown.

What was she doing here? It was the last thing I expected. And the last thing I wanted. She was my mother, yes. But she had hurt me in ways I couldn't fathom and knowing that she was there was a reminder that I didn't need.

I took a deep breath in, letting my hand rest on a handle. She knocked again, nearly shaking the doorframe with the force of it. Nina is right there. You're fine.

"Theo!"

Feeling the lump in my throat grow with each passing second, I willed myself to stay calm as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Seeing her face for the first time in four years, the first thing I noticed was how much older she had gotten.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked, speaking Portuguese to the woman who pretended that she raised me.

Nina knew that the relationship between my mother and I was rocky, but not to which extent. Nina didn't know that I was left alone at home for weeks at a time, forced to feed myself and survive on my own while mama was out with her new boyfriends. For the longest time, I told myself that it was normal. And that it was supposed to help me grow into an independent person.

It was too late when I realised that it wasn't.

"Is that the way you greet your mother?" she asked, stepping through the doorframe. Her naturally black hair was dyed blonde, contrasting against her thick eyebrows and dark eyes. I stared down at her shorter frame, biting my tongue.

"Hug me," she demanded, her face full of smiles and I tore my gaze away from her.

I couldn't stand how she pretended everything was okay. But for once, my heart wasn't breaking inside of my chest. Nina is right there.

I didn't react when she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding me in an embrace that was unwanted despite the fact that it felt familiar. My arms stayed glued to my sides, even when she whispered, "my son, I missed you."

Our first interaction in four years, and I couldn't bring myself to hug her back.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked again, knowing that my dad might have something to do with it. She let go of me, rolling her eyes in annoyance. The same way she used to when I was eight years old asking for assistance with whatever. Old habits die hard.

She sighed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her beige coat. "I wanted to see my boy. Your father told me your address. Is this the way you treat me after not seeing me for years?"

I didn't say anything. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't be mad at my father. He was the only one who took care of me. When he found out my mother wasn't doing what she was supposed to, he helped me settle down in a place of my choice and allowed me to finally live the life I wanted.

I was grateful, but that didn't mean I wasn't annoyed. My mother had a way of manipulating information out of anyone, and I was surprised it even took her that long.