Chapter 51 A Wannabe Old Justin Bieber
Claire
I knocked once—no answer. Then again. From inside, her voice snapped, “Riette, I told you to go away!” But the way she sounded… it was all wrong. Her voice cracked, fragile, like she’d been crying for hours.
I reached for the handle anyway. Surprisingly, she hadn’t locked it. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
The room was pitch black—no lights, curtains drawn tight. “Why did you do that? Just leave,” she mumbled from under the covers.
I didn’t say a word. I walked straight to the windows and yanked the curtains open. Sunlight flooded in. She shot up immediately, face twisted in anger—until she saw it was me. Her eyes widened.
I frowned, really looking at her now. Isa’s face was a wreck: red and blotchy, eyes swollen and puffy, lips raw like she’d been biting them bloody. “Mom?” she whispered.
“What happened?” I asked gently. “Why have you been crying?”
Her eyes flickered with panic for half a second before she turned her face away. “It’s nothing. Just… period cramps,” she lied.
I raised an eyebrow. “Period cramps, huh?”
She nodded quickly.
It couldn’t be because of Ian and me fighting in front of them… right? No, Isa had been fine since we arrived. She wouldn’t break down over that.
I moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. If it wasn’t about us, then it had to be something at school.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, watching her carefully.
She shook her head fast and swiped at her eyes. “No… I don’t think I can tell you,” she said, voice trembling as she sniffled.
Ah. I see. A boy. She must have a boyfriend, and he hurt her.
“If you don’t tell me, then who else are you going to tell, Isa?” I asked softly, almost a whisper.
She turned to look at me then, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’ll be disappointed,” she choked out.
I pulled my daughter into my arms without hesitation. My suspicion was right—it was definitely about a boy.
“Tell me, sweetheart. What happened?” I murmured, stroking her hair.
She didn’t answer right away. She just cried into my shoulder. I held her tight, letting her know I was here, that she could open up whenever she was ready.
When her sobs finally eased, I gently pulled back and held her by the shoulders. “If you’re crying because of another person, Isa… don’t. They’re not worth your tears.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. But then she shook her head. “No, Mom… you won’t understand.”
“Everybody knows now,” she whispered, voice breaking.
“Know what?” I pressed, already feeling protective anger rise. If anyone had hurt my child, I’d make them pay.
She took a shaky breath, eyes darting from my face to the side, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “That…” she swallowed , contemplating on whether to tell me "I…slept with Cullen.”
My brows furrowed. She glanced back at me quickly. “See, Mom? You’re disappointed.”
I let go of her shoulders, watching her crumble right in front of me.
“You slept with a boy?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
She froze, staring at me like she regretted ever opening her mouth.
My daughter… already knew that kind of intimacy? It hit me like a shockwave.
I tried to soften my expression. “So… is he your boyfriend?”
She didn’t answer. I guess I hadn’t hidden my shock well enough.
“I know, Mom. It’s shocking, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
I nodded honestly. “Yeah… it is. But it’s not uncommon for girls your age to be in those kinds of relationships with guys.” Then the rest of her words sank in. “Wait—what do you mean ‘everybody knows’ you slept with him?”
“Because he told them,” she said, sniffling. “He used me, Mom. And I fell for it like a complete fool.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she gave a bitter, heartbroken little smile.
“How dare he?” I muttered under my breath, fury rising like bile in my throat.
“Okay, huh—Isa, calm down, okay?” I said gently, trying to steady us both.
She nodded quickly, wiping at her eyes.
“Let me get this straight,” I continued slowly. “You got into a relationship…”
She nodded once.
“You two have… huh, you uh…”
I couldn’t quite force the words out. She still looked like my beautiful baby, the one I’d held in my arms almost twenty years ago.
“Sex,” she finished quietly for me.
I nodded, swallowing hard. “And he told everybody that you slept with him?”
I was still trying to wrap my head around it.
“The worst part is, Mom… he dumped me for another girl,” she whispered.
My face fell. How dare he?
“So he used you,” I said, voice low.
She nodded again, fresh tears threatening.
I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. My blood was boiling.
“How did you find out about all of this?” I asked.
She pulled out her phone with trembling hands and passed it to me.
I stared at the screen, lips pressed tight as I read through. “They’re messing with you in the group chat?”
Disbelief laced my voice as I scrolled through the cruel messages.
My eyes landed on a photo—a boy and a girl locked in a deep kiss.
“Wait… is this the guy?” I asked, tilting the phone toward her.
She nodded miserably. “Yeah.”
I nodded back slowly. “You mean this one who looks like old Justin Bieber?”
I raised a brow, pointing at his ridiculous hairstyle.
For the first time that day, Isa let out a small, broken laugh.
It was the same floppy hair, the same boyish vibe as old-school JB.
Even in the middle of all this pain, that tiny laugh felt like a crack of light.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, her face going pale again as the weight of it all hit her once more.
I set the phone down and looked straight at my daughter, a slow, determined smile spreading across my face.
“So what if he told everyone?” I said firmly. “You two did it—so why should they get to laugh at just you?”
Isa snapped her head up to stare at me, eyes wide.
I was done—completely done—with the bullshit some men pull. And now they were coming after my baby girl? No. Not today. Not ever.
“Wipe your face, Isa,” I told her gently but with steel behind my words. “There are plenty of men out there. Plenty. Not some wannabe old Justin Bieber.”
She let out another small, surprised chuckle.
“And it’s not like you didn’t enjoy it yourself,” I added, raising an eyebrow.
“Mom!” she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.
I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Oh no, I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation with you either.”
Then I leaned in closer. “So listen, Isa,” I said, holding her gaze. “When anyone asks you about it—or when they try to tease you—just look them dead in the eye and say, and I quote: ‘Yes, we did. But he was so small I could barely feel it.’”
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. She nodded, eyes lighting up with something like revenge.
Yes. That’s exactly how you kill a man’s ego—one brutal, unforgettable line at a time.
This talk with my daughter? It was inevitable after all.