Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 110

Regardless, that perfect moment, that massive declaration, it isn't happening tonight. That doesn't make us bad people. It just makes me conflicted.

"I'm going back inside to talk to Mom," I say. "Stay out here as long as you like. Keep the jacket."

"Patton—"

"Think about what you want," I tell her. "Because I already know."

When I reach the door, I look back to see her huddled into my coat, too large over her slim shoulders.

She's staring at the sky again with a look that's way too much like I remember my old man wearing as the clouds move in, covering the tinsel stars.

Yeah, it's hardly just Salem being ridiculous tonight. I snort at my own stupidity and close the door.

SALEM

It feels strange waking up in my own bed alone again.

My place has never felt smaller and it's always been mouse worthy.

I take a minute to stretch, my fingers brushing the wall and my toes scraping the end of the bed. There are a few shirts strung up by the heater to air dry and a suitcase on the floor I haven't put away yet.

Arlo isn't awake yet, and it's quiet as a tomb without Patton around. Of course, he's never stayed over here.

My choice, mostly—I didn't want him hanging out in my crappy apartment when we could slum it in his mansion in style. But I also wanted a safe environment for Arlo, just in case things go sideways.

It always comes down to Arlo when my own selfish feelings aren't in the driver's seat.

He deserves better, but he also shouldn't get too used to nice things when it could all come crashing out under us.

But if Patton walks out on me, he won't abandon his son. Whether I like it or not, the Rory wealth is part of Arlo's life now, and it could easily sideswipe his future. I don't know if that's good or bad.

Ugh, why is this so hard?

I drop my head in my hands, jamming my fingers into my eyes until I see stars.

I'm doing what I do best.

Worrying.

The great family dinner, our big relationship reveal, it was all just a few days ago. How does it already feel like half a lifetime ago?

His whole family knows we're a thing and I haven't seen him since he took us home.

My fault. Partly.

Never mind the fact that he sometimes gets me some coffee.

Groaning, I toss the phone aside and try to muster up the energy to climb out of bed.

It's better that Arlo spends some time in his old home and old life.

Patton's fairy-tale palace is a dream, not a reality for us.

Don't get me wrong. I want Arlo to have the world, but that's not the world—that's a parallel universe no five-year-old should have to digest.

He's awake when I get up, though, sitting at the kitchen table with an overflowing bowl of cereal I left out last night.

"I did it, Mommy!" he tells me proudly as he digs in. There's milk splattered around his bowl.

"Have you got enough there, big guy?" I ask, grabbing a dishrag. It's still so early the sun has barely risen, though that just means it's around seven this time of year. "I was going to make you pancakes."

"Pancakes?" In his excitement, he hits the spoon and cereal flies everywhere.

I stare at the milk slowly dripping on the floor, trying to shoot him a scolding look before I break down and laugh.

If we were at Patton's, in his gleaming modern kitchen, he'd just chuckle and wipe it away with a damp cloth and a joke. Here, on my own, it feels more like I'm on trial.