Fallon
My mother steps closer, her eyes wide and pleading, but I step back, fighting the urge to slap the woman.
“Does Dad know you’ve returned?” I demand. I have so many questions. So many, yet I can’t seem to voice the important ones. All I see is the mother who didn’t love us enough to stick around. Who ran out on us the first chance she got.
“I tried to find him, but that isn’t why I came in here. I need to know what the f**k you’re doing with Leone Pressutti,”
I scoff at her words. “Like you have any right to demand answers from me. Do you even care? What about Emma, your daughter, the one who nearly died because of you?” she flinches at my words and I see what I can only perceive as a flicker of regret perhaps or maybe guilt.
“How is Emma?” she asks, her lip quivering.
“Good,
