Chapter 169

Chapter 169
LAYLA'S POV
I pace the length of the kitchen, barefoot, aimless, the cold tiles grounding me while the rest of me comes undone. I keep telling myself this has to work. That I’m healing. That if I can just hold out a little longer, push a little harder, I’ll finally be okay. But deep down I know I’m unraveling in layers too quiet for anyone to notice.
The phone sits screen-up on the counter like I'm waiting for some life-changing news. It’s almost that time. He usually calls around now. Not exactly on the dot, but close enough for my heart to clock watch.
Three bouquets of roses are lined across the kitchen counter like trophies. One every day. Deep red, almost black at the edges, the way velvet bruises. Each with a card. I trace a finger over one of the petals. It feels soft. Too soft. Like it might disintegrate if I touch it again.
I tap the screen. Nothing. No new notifications. Maybe he’s stuck at work. That happens, right? Life doesn’t always revolve around my neuroses. I breathe in
...sharp, controlled, then reach for bread and whatever I can throw between it. Ham. Cheese. Mustard. I need something to do.
By the time I sit on the couch, sandwich in hand, it’s been twenty minutes past the usual time. No big deal. We didn’t set a schedule. He’ll call. He always calls.
I take a bite of the sandwich, but it tastes like rubber. I chew anyway. Maybe I can force myself to be okay the same way I force this food down. I glance at the phone again. Still nothing.
Then...A knock.
My heart lurches. Hope crashes against my ribs, violent and full of delusion. I set the sandwich down, rising too fast. It has to be him. It has to be. Maybe he decided he couldn’t wait either. Maybe he missed me enough to show up. Maybe he’s standing there right now, ready to—
I pull the door open.
And everything freezes.
My mum’s standing there. Not Adam.
Her face is careful, that tight-lipped version of love she’s always worn. Her eyes do a sweep...my hair, the oversized crew neck slipping off my shoulder, my trembling hand.
"Hi," she says.
And just like that, I’m empty again. Like I’d poured all my remaining warmth into the fantasy of him and now there’s nothing left to thaw the silence between us.
"Oh," I say, stepping back automatically. "It’s you."
Her brow knits, but she doesn’t say anything yet. Just walks in, takes in the place. The domesticity of it all.
"I was just in the area," she lies.
I close the door behind her and stand there for a second, pulse thudding like a ticking bomb behind my ribs. My mouth tastes like panic and mustard.
He hasn’t called, he said he would.
Why hasn’t he called?
"Layla," she starts, her voice weirdly gentle.
But I’m already looking back at my phone again.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” she says after a beat, her voice clipped but low. Controlled.
I shrug. “Been busy.”
She sighs like I’ve handed her the heaviest weight in the world. “A few minutes on a call, Layla. That’s all I was asking. Just to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t think that would be too much.”
The way she says okay like it’s a currency I’ve never been able to afford makes something inside me twitch. I nod, even offer a hollow smile. “Well, as you can see... I’m breathing. You can go now.”
Her face doesn’t crack. Of course it doesn’t. Her whole existence is built on the bones of grace and pretending nothing touches her. Her gaze shifts to the roses on the counter, then back to me. She doesn’t ask.
“If you’re here because of what I overheard at the fundraiser, you can relax. Adam and I talked. Everything’s fine. We’ve moved on.”
Her brows lift, eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Are you still with him?”
I stiffen. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She opens her mouth like she wants to spill something, but then...doesn’t. Just gives that slow nod that always feels like a verdict.
“I know you’ll never believe it,” she says softly, smoothing her hair behind her ear like she needs to keep one thing in place, “but I do only ever want the best for you.”
That line. That worn-out, polished lie disguised as love. It scrapes at something I’ve kept buried. The ache that’s never stopped buzzing under my ribs.
I laugh, small and bitter. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”
She looks around again, that same look of faint disgust wrapped in faux curiosity. “Just… take care. And Layla, I know you’re proud, but if you ever need help...don’t let your pride stop you. You can always ask.”
Something inside me snaps so quietly, it almost feels like a whisper.
She’s walking toward the door now, her heels soft against the floors. I move aside for her, press my back to the wall. I watch her hand wrap around the doorknob like it’s her final act, the elegant exit.
But I don’t let her go.
“You left me with him,” I say.
It comes out too calm, too quiet for what it is. She freezes. One foot outside, the other still in my home. Her hand tightens on the knob. She turns slowly.
“What?”
“You left me with him,” I say again, a little louder this time, but still not enough. “You knew what he was like. And you left me anyway.”
“Layla—”
I step forward, my arms crossed tight like if I let them fall I’ll start shaking. “You ran off. You found yourself a shiny new husband and a perfect little family and you left me with that monster.”
“Don’t—” her voice breaks, the first crack I’ve heard in years. “We don’t need to—”
“Do you have any idea what I went through?” I cut her off, my voice rising, slicing through the quiet. “Do you have the slightest idea what he did to me?! How I stopped being a child the minute you walked out that damn door?!”
She turns fully now. Her face has gone pale. Her hands are trembling where they clutch her handbag.
“I thought—”
“You didn’t think,” I snap. “You didn’t care. You saved yourself. You packed your bags and watched me disappear into his hands, and you never fucking looked back.”
Her eyes are glossy now, glinting with unshed tears she’s too proud to let fall. Her mouth opens and closes. For once, she has nothing eloquent to say. Just silence. Raw and choking.
“I used to dream of you coming back,” I whisper. “Every night. I used to think you’d show up and take me away. But you never came. And I just had to bear the way he looked at me like I owed him something for being born. It literally took him trying to kill me for you to worry.”