Chapter 160

Chapter 160
Linnet's POV

Hearing that, the tears I'd been holding back spilled over then, hot and sudden and somehow cleansing, like they were washing away some of the fear and uncertainty that had been building in my chest since the moment Cole had walked into Bryson's bedroom and looked at me like I was something he wanted to crush beneath his heel.

I found myself leaning across the table to wrap my arms around Mom's shoulders, nearly knocking over the forgotten mugs of tea in my haste to get closer to her, to feel the solid reality of her presence and know that I wasn't alone in this fight.

I buried my face against her neck the way I used to when I was small and the world felt too big and scary, when the only safe place I knew was in her arms, and breathed in the familiar scent of her cheap drugstore shampoo mixed with the lingering smell of the diner where she worked—coffee and grease and other people's meals.

"Thank you," I whispered against her skin, my voice muffled and thick with emotion. "Thank you for understanding, for not trying to make me choose between you and him, for being willing to fight for us."

"You're my daughter," Mom murmured, one hand coming up to stroke my hair in that soothing rhythm that had comforted me through every childhood nightmare and adolescent heartbreak, through the times when kids at school made fun of my secondhand clothes or when I didn't get invited to birthday parties because we couldn't afford to bring nice presents.

"No matter what, I only want you to be okay. You're my hope, Linnet—my proof that something good can come from all the darkness. I want you to have what I had with your father, to find someone who truly loves you and cherishes you, someone who would never dream of hurting you the way Cole hurt me."

I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, and saw the concern there beneath the love and determination—a mother's worry that her daughter was rushing headlong into something dangerous, something that might break her heart or worse.

And I understood that concern, could see the logic in it even as I knew with bone-deep certainty that I couldn't walk away from Bryson even if I wanted to, that whatever we had between us was worth fighting for despite the risks.

"But Bryson is your first love," Mom continued gently, her thumb brushing away the tears on my cheek with a tenderness that made my chest ache. "And first loves are powerful, all-consuming in a way that later relationships often aren't. They burn so bright and hot that sometimes you can't see past them to what might come after. If someday you fall in love with someone else, will you regret everything you're going through now? Everything you're risking for him?"

The question should have made me hesitate, should have planted seeds of doubt about whether what I felt for Bryson was real or just the intensity of first passion mistaken for something deeper, the way people always said teenagers didn't really know what love was because they hadn't lived long enough to understand all its complexities. But instead I found myself shaking my head with absolute certainty, the answer clear in my heart even if I couldn't fully articulate the logic behind it, couldn't explain in words why I knew this was right despite every rational argument against it.

"No," I said firmly, and I could hear the conviction in my own voice, feel it settling into my bones like something that had always been there waiting to be acknowledged.

"I don't think I will, Mom. Every experience is part of who we become, right? Every person we love, every choice we make, every battle we fight—they all shape us into whoever we're going to be. Maybe someday I'll meet someone different, fall in love again in a different way. But right now, in this moment, you and Bryson are the most important people in my life. And I won't regret anything I do to protect that, to fight for the people I love. Because even if it ends badly, even if Bryson and I don't make it—I'll still know that I tried, that I didn't let fear or other people's expectations stop me from choosing love when I found it."

The words felt true as I spoke them, felt like something I'd needed to say not just to Mom but to myself, a promise that I wouldn't let Cole's shadow or society's skepticism or even my own doubts keep me from reaching for what I wanted.

Because wasn't that what Mom had taught me through her own example—that survival wasn't enough, that you had to fight for the chance to actually live, to experience joy and connection and all the messy, complicated beauty of being human even when the world seemed determined to grind you down?

Mom's smile was watery but genuine, transforming her tired face into something almost radiant despite the late hour and the emotional weight of everything we'd discussed, and I saw in that moment the young woman she must have been before Cole, before poverty and single motherhood and endless exhausting work had worn her down—someone bright and hopeful and unafraid to reach for happiness even when it seemed impossibly far away. "As long as you're happy," she said softly, "I'll do anything for you. Anything at all."

We held each other for another long moment, and I felt something settle in my chest—not quite peace, because there was still too much uncertainty ahead, too many battles yet to be fought with an enemy who had all the advantages of money and power and social position on his side—but something like resolution, like the certainty that whatever came next, Mom and I would face it together as allies rather than adversaries, as a team united against a common threat rather than two people pulling in opposite directions.