The Artist's Wife (BWWM)

Chapter 38~ Going

Filthy. As always.

I pointedly ignored the filthy looking seats she was gesturing at us to take and held onto my husband's hand. He, on the other hand, took in the whole environment with a quite disinterested look. My mother's brown eyes were still trained on him.

"I thought we had a deal," she snarled, arms akimbo and towel looking loose around her surprisingly still curvaceous body. "I told you everything, you said we weren't going to meet again."

I suddenly felt put out, all initial courage disappearing when I got the gist of what her raspy voice was trying to convey. She didn't want to deal with her past, me. She had agreed that he shouldn't bring me over.

"And here we are again." Gerard's voice was soft and calm, as he raised an eyebrow at her, a move I still thought was immensely cool whenever he did it. "Because that deal expired."

"I don't want to see both of you!"

She was talking like I wasn't even in the same room with them and I felt my chest tighten in sudden grief and pain. I didn't know why I was feeling that way.

"You're not exactly in the position to state what you want and don't want," Gerard snapped at her, meeting her glare. "And do you think I really wanted to meet your disgusting self again? This was all Karina's idea."

As if noticing me for the first time, my mother turned to face me, as we stared at each other squarely. I was no more the scrawny thirteen year old she had damaged, we were both squaring off at the same height of 5'3.

"Who was my real father?" were the first words out of my lips, the answer to that question was one of the major reasons why I wanted to meet her. It had bugged me ever since Lance mentioned it.

Shock flitted across her face as she once again glanced at Gerard who for the first time since we came in looked caught by surprise thanks to my question. He looked down at me, apparently wondering how I found out about the mystery of my father and I realized that he didn't know about my fight with my Korean best friend yet.

"You knew your father, dear. Lord bless his gentle soul," she said, quickly recovering from her shock and smiling at me through her cracking lips.

"Tell the truth!" I clenched my fists, trying to appear fierce. "Who was my real father?"

Gerard was trying to pull me closer but I brushed him off, tying my red hoodie tighter around my waist. My mother blinked, as though mildly surprised by the outburst before placing a hand to her forehead and sighing wearily.

"I don't even know," she admitted. "I don't remember which of those men your father was but James was more of a father than your biological father would probably have been."

She was right though, but I had never felt as much hatred toward someone as I was feeling right now. My whore of a mother, now living as a shadow of her former vivacious self in the rural parts of Bath. Coming here suddenly seemed like a bad idea, I should have listened to Gerard.

"Let's go," I told Gerard, trying to ignore the wretched sight of Debra as she quietly bit down on her lower lip and fiddled with the edge of her towel.

"Alright."

I hugged him gently as he led me away before my mother's voice stopped us once more.

"I'm sorry," she called out. I didn't turn but if there was any moment I wanted to be shed tears, it was now. "For everything. I was young and needed money then, you have to understand that."

I was silent, so she continued.

"I had you at sixteen, I hated that. I hated you." She paused. "After I left I got in therapy, I'm better now, I swear. You can ask anybody in this building and thank you for not reporting me or any of the things that happened. I hope one day you'll be able to find a place in your heart to forgive me."

"You don't deserve forgiveness." I blinked, trying to produce tears. "And I hope you suffer till the day you take your last breath. You're not my mother, just a womb donor. My real mother is back in New York."

"I know I failed as a mother." She was sobbing now, and I turned to see the tears streaking down her light chocolate skinned face. She actually looked so innocent and pitiable, it was disgusting. "But please forgive me all my sins, so I can finally be at peace."

"You can never know true peace." It wasn't a curse, just a simple fact. "But someone once told me to stop living in the past and focus on the now, I'll advice you to try the same."

"But--"

I cut her off. "Goodbye mother, hopefully, we'll never meet again."

With that, I conquered my nightmares of over two decades and for the first time, I was truly a free woman. I felt something. Happiness? Was it this strange, light chested, euphoric feeling in my chest as I held onto my husband's hand and walked out of that filthy apartment?

Maybe.

**

Sorry I took so long to update:(

Love,

Lola.❤ ✌