Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

imagine facing the decisions Mom had to make, and the sacrifices. The grief! To think her future would be one thing, whether she was truly ready for it or not, only to have it swiped away by something as cruel and unforgiving as death. To think—yet again, during this horrendous week—what my life might have been like if Cliff lived, if they had been able to start their life together. To imagine having a father, a young one, an impulsive one, but one who would have loved me. I have found him and lost him all in the same sitting.

And of course, those letters held something else: the truth about Amelia Parker.

I think back to everything she told me. She never once mentioned an adoption, or the truth about her relationship with Mom before my abduction. She even told me about being pregnant. She pushed for a DNA test, knowing what the results would be. Of course, she also offered to arrange it. I wonder, knowing the lengths she took back then, if she had some way of altering the results. This woman, who on the surface exceeds every ideal, can’t be so manipulative, can she? I’d prefer to think she treated Mom the way she did because she was acting on her own maternal instincts, that she wasn’t trying to intentionally deceive her. Maybe she was in denial about how dangerous Bruce could be.

Really, Amelia’s motives don’t matter. What matters is that Mom is my protector. Always has been. She gave me to the Parkers because she believed she was making the best decision for me. When she realized how dangerous Bruce was, she fought like hell to get me back. We have been hiding ever since. Not because she wanted to control me, but because she wanted to shield me. Every decision, every lie has been a form of defense.

Mom admitted she didn’t want me to know any of this. I would have been saved a mountain of heartache if I had never found out, but now that I know the truth, the clarity I have is more monumental than the pain I’ve experienced this past week; it takes away the uncertainties I’ve carried about Mom and myself throughout my life.

I creep down the hallway to Ava’s room. I push open the door and peek into her crib. She sleeps peacefully. I think about how much I love her. How I would do anything in my power to keep her safe. I realize, now, that is all Mom ever wanted to do for me.

And I shudder when I think of how I let Amelia get so close.

Desperation pushed me toward Amelia more than anything. After Mom’s arrest, I was untethered, isolated in a lonely world. I was convinced Mom was a liar, a kidnapper, a murderer. Amelia’s presence stabilized me, provided the hope and optimism Mom wasn’t capable of giving. Now I see Amelia was trying to stay in control of the Baby Caroline narrative she had written years ago. She never came forward with her true connection to Mom, never admitted she agreed to an adoption. She is using the same tricks to manipulate me now that she used on Mom back then.

The silence in the living room bothers me. I’ve just uncovered all this information, everything I’ve ever wanted to know about my past, and there’s no one I can share these new discoveries with.

Carmen needs to read these letters. It’s only my mother’s version of events, secrets she’s spent an entire lifetime guarding, but there is a possibility this information could help her case. If she is believed, that is. Identifying the person who called the hospital would help. I can’t know for sure, but I wonder if Mom’s friend Jamie might have tipped me off. Maybe she saw the media circus and knew it was time the truth came out.

Yes, Carmen will have to know, and I’m sure she’ll instruct Rick to start digging. Des also deserves the truth. She’s respected Mom’s boundaries to this point and been nothing but loyal since the arrest. In the morning, I’ll call them both.

Tonight, I need to do more than simply plan Mom’s next step. I’m still absorbing the information I’ve been given, and I need someone who is willing to let me do that. Be still with these shaky thoughts.

I think of Evan.

I’m here if you need me, he told me after he finished cleaning graffiti off The Shack’s windows.

I need him tonight. I really do.

41 MarionNow

Evan pretends I didn’t wake him, but his appearance gives him away.

He sits beside me on the living room sofa wearing maroon sweatpants and a top with a Sanderson logo. His hair sits on one side of his head, like it was brushed hurriedly, and he’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses. He only takes his contacts out right before bed, and sometimes he forgets and sleeps with them in, or so I remember.

Even if he was asleep when I called, he’s attentive now. He listens to my every word, as I tell him about finding the letters, sneaking behind Des’ back earlier today to retrieve them. I tell him about Mom’s life before me, about the choices she was faced with making. I tell him about my father, this young man I never got the chance to know. And I tell him how Bruce and Amelia Parker play into all of this.

“It’s unbelievable,” he says, after several seconds of silence. He has been thinking, his gaze deliberately avoiding mine. “And yet, it makes sense of everything, doesn’t it?”

I’ve thought the same thing. Mom’s protectiveness, her paranoia. It wasn’t because she was afraid of what dangers might be out in the world—she had already been confronted by them. She knew Amelia was still out there and possessed more credibility than a twenty-something convicted criminal ever would. She must have lived in constant fear that one day Amelia would return for me.

“Do you remember me telling you about my eighteenth birthday party?” I