Chapter 2

My sudden admission made Margaret's sobbing come to an abrupt halt.

She just stared at me, totally lost, her face stuck in that shocked expression, almost comical, really.

Everyone else went silent, too, giving me confused looks.

I looked up, locking eyes with her, those murky yet shrewd eyes, and let a cold, barely-there smirk curl at my lips.

"Did you forget, Mom?" I said softly, my words slicing through the air like ice dropped into boiling oil.

Her eyes went wide, her face turned very pale, like someone had just ripped her soul out.

I smiled, making sure she and everyone listening heard every word.

I continued, "Eighteen years ago, during that earthquake, you grabbed Beckett and left me trapped under a cabinet, didn't even look back as you ran out. Those were your exact words back then.

"You said, 'Winifred, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll come back for you.'"

My voice stayed calm, even with a hint of a smile, but every word was like a shard of poisoned ice, stabbing straight into her heart.

I continued, "Then, you left me all alone in that house as it kept collapsing, hearing you run off with Beckett, your footsteps getting farther and farther. I waited for you the whole night."

I raised my hand and gently tapped my left leg, the one that still throbs with pain even now.

"This is how my leg got ruined. Did you really forget, Mom?" I said.

"Now," I said, watching her face go very pale, and her whole body start to shake. I spoke slowly, letting the words sink in. "It's your turn."

The wind seemed to freeze in place.

The whole clearing was dead silent.

The only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the breeze and Margaret's ragged, broken breathing.

All the angry flush and dramatic color that had filled her face just moments ago had completely drained away, leaving her skin very pale.

Her lips quivered, and she gripped the wheelchair's armrests so tightly that her knuckles stood out, very pale.

"That's not true," she stammered.

Margaret finally forced out a few shaky, broken words, her voice sharp but weak. "You're lying, Winifred. How could you accuse your own mother like this? It was an emergency back then."

"An emergency, huh?" I cut her off, my voice not loud but sharp enough for everyone to catch every word.

I continued, "Yeah, so urgent that you could grab your perfectly fine six-year-old son and run without a second thought, while your eight-year-old daughter was trapped under a wardrobe, crying out for you to save her, and you just ignored her like she wasn't even there."

My voice was steady, as if I were narrating someone else's story, but every word was laced with eighteen years of frozen bitterness.

I continued, "So urgent that you left me alone in the darkness, with bricks and rubble still crashing down, while I listened to you outside, holding your precious son and whispering sweet words to him. And you never once looked back."

I took a step closer, looming over her, staring down into her eyes as they flickered wildly with fear and guilt.

I sneered, "Mom, do you even realize that when the rescue team finally found me the next morning, my leg was already a wreck? The doctor said if they'd been just a few hours later, they would've had to cut it off."

I lightly tapped my left leg, and even through my pants, I could still feel the agony of shattered bones and torn flesh from back then.

I continued, "Do you have any idea what it's like to be trapped under all that rubble, freezing and scared, listening to the aftershocks outside, waiting for a mom who'd never show up again?"

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The looks of contempt from before had all turned to shock and sympathy, every single one of them now fixed on Margaret.

Evelyn's mouth fell open as she stared in disbelief at the woman in the wheelchair, who seemed to shrink into herself in that instant.

People started muttering under their breath. "Oh my god, she's not even mom. She is too ruthless."

"No wonder Winifred turned out like this."

"No mother would do this."

Margaret was shaking from all the judgment and gossip, every stare and whisper cutting into her.

She suddenly jerked her head up, clutching at the last shred of hope, her voice shrill as she tried to defend herself. "No, that's not how it was. I really wanted to save you, but Beckett was terrified.

"He just wouldn't stop crying. I had no choice. I'm his mom. I had to get him out first. I was going to come back for you right away. It was the aftershocks. They trapped me outside."

There she went again with that excuse.

For eighteen years, she had trotted out that same line, using it to shut me up, to dodge the relatives who came asking questions, and even to fool herself, just so her crooked conscience could find a little peace.

I looked at her and suddenly smiled, but there was nothing warm about it. "Oh, really? The aftershocks kept you outside?

"Then how come Victor said he saw you at the shelter after the quake, holding Beckett, giving him cookies, helping him fall asleep, not even looking like you cared your daughter was missing?

"I still remember you telling people, 'Thank goodness Beckett's okay. Boys are the backbone of the family. As for girls, well, whatever happens to her is just fate.'"