Chapter 130: the Eighth session

Aveline's POV

"You lied!" Cassian shouted, his face twisting with sudden rage. "You stayed behind that night!"

He grabbed my collar and yanked me forward. My lungs completely locked up. But before he could pull me off the stool, I rammed my open palms straight into his chest. I pushed him back with everything I had.

"Don't you ever blame me without evidence!" I yelled, forcing Asher's deepest voice out of my throat.

Cassian stumbled back, scraping hard against the floor. His face twisted with shock. Before he could lunge again, Kieran sprang across the island. He threw his entire body in front of me, his chest anchored like a wall between Cassian and my face.

"Back off, Thorne!" Kieran roared as he shoved Cassian’s shoulders. "Get your hands off him!"

Landon and Milo dove into the space, their arms locking around Cassian's torso to drag him back toward the hallway. Cassian was thrashing against them, his face completely red. He was still there! He lied about leaving! He was around the locker room when my brother's life got ruined!"

Reed stood up so fast his plate shattered. "Cassian, stop! Guys, calm down!"

Everyone started shouting over each other. The kitchen became a complete wall of angry noise. Cassian kept screaming that Asher ruined Oliver's life, his voice shaking with raw fury. Landon and Milo struggled heavily to hold him back.

"You're accusing him of destroying Oliver's career over one blurry photo?" Kieran demanded, his voice booming over the chaos as he shielded me. "That's not proof!"

Through the gap in their shoulders, I saw Theo standing near the edge of the room. He wasn't helping Landon and Milo hold Cassian back. His eyes were fixed on the timestamp on Milo's phone. The color completely drained from his face. He looked badly shaken. Before anyone noticed him, Theo grabbed his winter coat from the chair, turned around, and quietly slipped out through the front door.

My stomach tightened. Why was Theo leaving?

Suddenly, I realized the entire room was looking at me. Milo, Landon, Reed and Cassian.

Their eyes were all fixed on my face, waiting for an explanation I did not have. The air in the kitchen felt hot and thick. I couldn't breathe anymore. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Whatever I said now would only make things worse.

I turned around, grabbed my jacket, and walked out of the house without looking back.

I got home fast. The short bus ride was a blur of cold wind and gray snow, but I barely felt it. My mind was completely broken inside. Finding Asher on the floor that night was brutally mixed with the memory of Asher’s actual burial after the summer. We had stood in the rain, watching the coffin slide into the wet mud. The physical stress of wearing his clothes and binding my chest tight every morning was finally choking me.

By the time I reached my street, my hands were shaking so hard I could barely put the key into the lock. I walked straight into the house, my lungs burning.

The living room was quiet. My mother, Evelyn, was sitting flat on the floor, neatly cleaning Asher’s old photographs with a cloth. She looked up when the door shut, her face instantly lighting up with a bright smile.

"There you are, Asher sweetheart," Evelyn said warmly.

"Look, I found your childhood photographs. We need to put it right in the center of the mantle. I have always been so proud of your hockey progress."

I closed my eyes. Not today. Please... not today.

When I opened them, she was still smiling at me as if nothing had happened. She was completely trapped in her fake world.

"Mom..." I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Take off your coat, sweetheart," she hummed, turning back to the picture. "We don't want you catching a cold before the school resumes."

"Stop calling me Asher!" I screamed. The raw pain came tearing out of my throat.

Evelyn blinked. Her smile disappeared. She looked up from the floor with wide eyes. "What are you talking about? Asher, you're scaring me."

"I am not Asher!" My voice broke hard. I ripped off my winter coat, my chest heaving against the tight chest binders. "Look at me! Just look at me!"

She stood up slowly, taking a step closer and reaching her hand out toward my face. "Sweetheart, you're confused. You're exhausted. Go upstairs and sleep."

"I am not confused!" I shouted, slapping her hand away before she could touch my skin. "Don't! Stop looking at me like I am him! I am exhausted because you have made me completely disappear!"

Her shoulders went stiff. "Asher..."

"No!" Tears filled my eyes and ran hot down my cheeks. "Say my name! Say it! Who am I?"

"No," she whispered frantically, her hands shaking as she grabbed my arms tightly. She started hitting my chest weakly, her voice rising in a desperate panic. "You're Asher. You're my son. You're right here. You're alive. Don't take him away from me! Don't do this to me!"

A broken, bitter laugh escaped me.

"No. I am Aveline. Your daughter." My chest hurt so bad I could barely breathe. "Do you know what it is like to hear my own mother call me by my twin brother's name every single day? To wake up every morning and pretend I died instead of him? I am sad too, Mom! I lost my brother, too!"

Evelyn shook her head violently, covering her ears with her hands. "No! Don't make me bury him again, Aveline! Stop it!"

"LOOK AT ME!" I screamed.

She finally looked. Her whole body froze right in front of me. The picture slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a loud clatter. Her thin lips trembled, and her eyes went wide as she stared directly into my face.

"A..." Tears rolled fast down her cheeks, washing away the fake cheer on her face. "Aveline..."

I had waited months to hear my own name. Now that it had finally left her mouth... It didn't feel like victory. It felt like another funeral.

She covered her mouth with both hands, stepping back as if the name itself had cut her.

"No... no..." Evelyn sobbed, her voice dropping into a desperate, breaking whisper. "If I say your name... then Asher is really gone. Please... let me have one more day with him. You don't understand. He is still here when I look at you."

"You lost him!" I cried, the anger draining out of me, leaving nothing but hollow grief. "But instead of being sad for your son, you are erasing your daughter!"

Evelyn stared at me as if she had never seen my face before. Her thin lips moved, but no words came out. She looked completely afraid of the truth standing right in front of her. Suddenly, her knees completely gave out beneath her, and she collapsed heavily onto the floor, fainting into total unconsciousness.

"Mom!" I screamed. My panic took over completely.

I rushed forward and dropped to my knees next to her. My hands shook hard as I touched her pale cheek. She was not moving. Her breathing was very slow.

I scrambled across the floor, grabbed my phone from my coat pocket, and dialed emergency services.

"Emergency services, how can we help?" a calm voice answered.

"My mom just fainted," I gasped out, my voice cracking into heavy tears. "She collapsed on the floor. She won't wake up."

"Stay calm, dear. An ambulance is on the way to your address right now," the dispatcher said over the line.

"While we wait for the paramedics to arrive, I need you to find her personal identification or any medical information cards. Can you check her wallet or handbag for me?"

"Yes, hold on," I stammered, looking around the quiet living room in desperation.

I tossed the phone onto the floor, leaving the call on speakerphone. I sprinted across the room to where her handbag was resting on the chair. With trembling fingers, I ripped the zipper open and dumped the contents straight onto the small table, looking for any information about her health history or allergies.

Her wallet, compact mirror, and loose change spilled out.

Deep inside the side pocket, my fingers hit a small, white paper booklet. I pulled it out.

It wasn't a standard health insurance card. It was an official appointment log from a local mental health clinic, signed by a professional therapist named Dr. Joanna Vincent. At the bottom of the card, the box marked Session Number had a clear, dark handwritten digit.

Eight sessions.

Eight.

My mother had been seeing a therapist for months. I stared at the booklet in disbelief. Then why hadn't anything changed? If she was getting help... why was she still calling me Asher?