Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen

Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen
I followed the guard through a maze of security checkpoints, Hunter behind me, Quinn in front. The stark fluorescent lights cast everything in a harsh glow, making the already sterile environment feel even more lifeless. I’d never been inside a detention facility before, had never imagined I’d be visiting my own mother in one. I had thought I didn’t need this… but I did.
“Through here,” the officer said, stopping at a door marked Attorney–Client Room 3. “We’re making an exception for privacy since her lawyer requested it. Normally it would be through glass with other visitors present.”
Quinn nodded. “We appreciate that. Thank you.”
“I’ll be right outside,” he assured us, unlocking the door. “Just knock when you’re finished.”
My heart hammered against my ribs as we stepped inside. The room was small, containing only a metal table bolted to the floor and four chairs. No windows. Just a single camera mounted in the corner. The light on it wasn’t blinking, so they weren’t recording. Also a request from Mom’s lawyer, I was guessing.
And there she was.
Margo Wilson sat perfectly straight, hands folded on the table. The orange jumpsuit should have looked ridiculous on her, but somehow she wore it like it was couture. Her hair was immaculate despite her circumstances, face made up as best she could manage with limited resources. Always keeping up appearances, even here. I should have guessed.
Her eyes locked with mine immediately, then flicked to Hunter with barely concealed distaste before settling on Quinn with open hostility.
“I asked to see Grace alone,” she said, her voice as crisp and cold as I remembered.
“That’s not happening,” Hunter replied, his hand finding the small of my back.
I swallowed hard. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of my husband and Quinn. If you don’t like it, we can leave.”
Something flickered across her face, irritation, maybe disappointment. “Your husband,” she repeated, as if testing the word for poison. “I suppose that’s technically true now.”
I could see she wanted to say something but held it in. Because she wanted something.
Quinn stepped forward. “Mrs. Wilson, we’ve agreed to this meeting at your request. Talk or we’re leaving.”
Mom’s lips tightened. “Always so direct, Miss Knight.”
I remained standing until Hunter pulled out a chair for me. He sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. His presence always helped me. Having him by my side made me stronger, like I hoped I made him stronger.
“What do you want, Mom?” I asked, proud that my voice didn’t shake. I looked her in the eyes and didn’t waver.
She studied me for a long moment, her gaze calculating. “You look well. Pregnancy agrees with you.”
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. “Thank you. Now answer my question.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly at my directness. “I wanted to see you. Is that so strange? A mother wanting to see her daughter?”
“Under the circumstances, yes,” I replied. “You’ve never particularly wanted to see me before unless you needed something. So, Mother, what do you need or want?”
Hunter’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently.
Mom’s mask slipped, just for a second. “That’s not true, Grace. You’ve always been important to me.”
“Please don’t make me laugh. Not as important as Helena,” I countered. “Or your social standing. Or Dad’s career. So, I’ll ask again… what do you want?”
She leaned forward slightly. “I want to explain my side. Before this goes any further.”
“Your side?” Quinn interjected, her tone incredulous. “The evidence is overwhelming, Mrs. Wilson. Helena’s diary spells it all out, the payments, the manipulations, the illegal procedures.”
“Helena always had a flair for drama,” Mom said dismissively. “She exaggerated.”
I felt a flash of anger. “Bank records don’t exaggerate. Neither do medical files.”
“Grace,” she said, softer now, leaning forward. “You have to understand. Everything I did was for the family. For your sister. She wanted a child so badly.”
Helena again. Not that I wouldn’t have suffered.
“Don’t,” I warned, my voice hardening. “Don’t try to make this about helping Helena. This was about control. About using me like you always have.”
Her face changed then, the mask slipping completely. “Is that what you think? That I was using you?”
“I know you were,” I replied, steady now. “You’ve been using me my entire life. As Helena’s shadow. As the good daughter who never complained. As the surrogate who would give Helena and Hunter their baby without question. The emotional blackmail. Making me feel unworthy of love.”
“I was protecting you!” she snapped, the words sharp. “I knew how you felt about Hunter. I was making sure you didn’t do anything foolish.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Hunter’s hand tightened around mine.
Margo wasn’t finished. “How pathetic you were, mooning over your sister’s husband? I was protecting you from yourself.”
Hunter knew my feelings, so I wasn’t embarrassed.
“By stealing my eggs?” My voice rose despite my efforts to control it. “By manipulating me into carrying a baby I thought was Helena’s? By paying off doctors so they would approve me? That wasn’t protection. That was cruelty.”
“It was necessary,” she insisted. “Helena needed to secure her marriage. She needed Hunter’s heir.”
“And it didn’t matter what I needed,” I said quietly. “It never has.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “What you needed was direction. Structure. Left to your own devices, you’d have thrown yourself at Hunter the moment Helena’s back was turned.”
Hunter shifted beside me. “That’s enough, Margo.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t pretend you’re innocent in all this. You married Grace right after Helena died. The ink was hardly dry on her death certificate.”
“Mom, stop,” I warned.
“Tell me, Hunter, how long were you looking at Grace before my daughter died?”
After reading Helena’s diary, I felt no guilt.
Hunter started to rise, but I placed my hand on his arm. “If all you’re trying to do is create drama between Hunter and me, you can forget it. We are not staying to hear it.”
Quinn cleared her throat. “Mrs. Wilson, if you have something relevant to say regarding your legal situation, now would be the time.”
Mom’s eyes never left my face. “I want you to help get the charges dropped, Grace.”
I blinked in surprise. “What?”
“The prosecutor will listen to you. If you tell them you don’t want to pursue this, they’ll consider a plea deal. Something that keeps me out of prison.”
I stared at her, incredulous. “You want me to help you avoid consequences? After everything you’ve done?”
“I’m your mother,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Family protects family.”
“Like you protected me?” I laughed, the sound hollow. “By selling my body to carry a child when I was still a virgin. That’s not protection, Mom. That’s abuse.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she snapped. “You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted, haven’t you? Hunter. The baby. My disgrace. Helena conveniently out of the way.”
I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the concrete floor. “We’re done here.”
“Grace—”
“No.” My voice was steady, even as rage and hurt swirled through me. “You didn’t call me here because you wanted to explain. You called me here to manipulate me one last time. But it won’t work. Not anymore. I can’t do anything; it’s a criminal case.”
She stood as well, matching my stance. “If you walk out that door without agreeing to help me, you are no longer my daughter.”
The words should have hurt. Should have cut through me like they had so many times before. But all I felt was a profound sense of relief.
“I stopped being your daughter the moment you decided I was nothing but a tool for Helena’s happiness,” I said quietly. “It’s the day you stopped being important to me. You mean nothing to me now. Goodbye, Mom.”
I turned toward the door, Hunter immediately at my side, Quinn already knocking for the guard.
“Grace!” Mom’s voice was sharp, desperate. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. Grace!”
I didn’t look back. Not when the guard opened the door. Not when her voice rose to a shout behind us. Not when the heavy metal door clanged shut, cutting off her cries.
In the corridor, my legs finally gave out. Hunter caught me against his chest, holding me up when I couldn’t stand on my own.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve got you. I will always have you, baby.”
Quinn stood a few feet away, giving us space, her expression a mixture of pride and concern.
“Take me home,” I whispered against Hunter’s shirt. “Please, just take me home.”
As we walked out of the detention center, a weight I’d carried my entire life—the desperate need for my mother’s approval, the fear of her disappointment—slipped away with each step.
By the time we reached the car, I was breathing easier, standing taller. I had faced my mother and walked away intact. She didn’t matter anymore.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asked as he helped me into the passenger seat.
I looked up at him, the man who had chosen me, who stood beside me, who saw me as I truly was.
“Yes,” I said, and for the first time in my life when answering that question, I meant it. “I’m okay. Thank you.”