“You’re the one he didn’t want.”
Madelaine felt the anger rush out of her at the simple truth. “That’s true,” she said softly. “It was me he didn’t want, me he didn’t love. But he also didn’t want …” Madelaine stared at her daughter, not knowing what to say, which truth to tell.
“Me?” Lina whispered.
“No.” Madelaine’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper. “He didn’t want to grow up and make hard choices and sacrifices. He just wanted to have fun, and parenting at seventeen is definitely not fun.”
Lina wrenched her gaze away and crossed her arms. “He’s a grownup now,” she said stubbornly. “He’ll want me.”
Madelaine stared at her daughter’s profile, at the trembling mouth and pale skin, at the tears that streaked unchecked from her eyes. She moved closer, pressed her warm palm to Lina’s cold cheek. “I want him to love you, Lina, I want him to want you, but…”
Lina turned to her. “But what?”
“I’m afraid, Lina. It’s as simple as that.”
She blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Is he violent?”
“No, never that.” Madelaine brushed Lina’s tear away with her thumb. “He’s … selfish. I’m afraid he’ll break your heart.”
Lina stared at her. “Don’t you understand, Mom? He’s breaking my heart now.”
Madelaine sighed, thinking suddenly of all the promises she’d broken over the years—little things, a dinner missed here, a movie missed there—and how they’d added up, brought Lina and Madelaine to this moment. A mother and daughter who loved each other, and hurt each other, and didn’t know how to change. “I know you don’t believe me, baby,” she whispered. “But I just want to do the right thing.”
“I want to believe you, Mom,” Lina said.
Madelaine heard the quietly spoken words, and they gave her a tiny, sparking ray of hope. She thought of a dozen responses, but in the end it all came down to empty words, promises made by a woman who’d broken too many.
Finally she said the only thing that really mattered. “I love you, Lina.”
Lina’s eyes filled with tears. “I know you do, Mom.”
They weren’t the words Madelaine wanted to hear. Not the right words at all.
Chapter Eleven
Tom Grant was sitting up in bed, laughing quietly at something his wife had said, when Ma
delaine walked into his room.
“Morning,” she said, plucking his chart out of the sleeve and quickly reading the newest notations. “Everything looks good. We’ll be taking you off the IV meds today, Tom. And those catheters—consider them gone. You’re practically free.”
He grinned at that. “When can I see my kids? Joe is home from college.”
She went to the bedside and checked the two small wires that protruded from his chest. They were there to monitor the pace and electrical rhythm of the new heart. When she finished, she looked down at Tom. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to be possible today.”
Tom’s smile fell. “What’s wrong?”
“Joe has a cold, and we don’t want to risk it quite yet.”
Susan released a heavy sigh. “Oh, God. I thought it was bad news.”
Madelaine understood—the first few post-op days were always terrifying. “I’ll talk to Joe myself. We’ll monitor him closely for the next few days. Maybe by Monday …” She let the words trail off before they became a promise.
“He got straight A’s this term,” Tom said proudly, gazing up at his wife.
Madelaine almost said something inane—an ordinary response—then she caught herself. Instead she inched closer to the bed. “How did you guys do it… raise such healthy, happy kids?”
“Luck,” Tom answered quickly.