Faking It With The Hockey Star

Chapter 53: Before Everything

Harper’s POV

Nobody spoke. Mom’s words lingered in the room like smoke.

He wasn’t always like this.

Emma frowned. "I don’t understand," she said quietly.

Mom smiled sadly. "I know." She rested both hands on her walker before slowly lowering herself back onto the couch. Noah quickly reached over to steady her elbow. "Easy," he said. She patted his hand. "I’m okay."

Once she settled back against the cushions, she looked at each of us. "I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this story from the beginning," she said.

I swallowed. "I don’t think we’ve ever asked."

She nodded. "You were all too young." Her eyes drifted toward the television, but I could tell she wasn’t seeing it anymore. "I met your father during my first year at university," she said. A small laugh escaped her. "I was awkward."

Emma looked surprised. "You?"

"Oh, I was," Mom said. "I barely spoke to anyone. I buried myself in books." She smiled to herself. "Your father was the opposite. He knew everyone. He could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with twenty new friends."

I could almost picture it. Young. Confident. Charming. Nothing like the man who stood in our living room a few days ago.

"He kept finding excuses to talk to me," Mom continued. "’Do you understand this assignment?’ ’Can I borrow your notes?’ ’Do you want to grab lunch?’" She chuckled softly. "I thought he was annoying."

Noah grinned. "So what changed?"

"He didn’t give up," she said simply. The smile on her face lingered for a moment before fading. "And I needed someone." The room grew quiet again. "My parents died when I was eighteen. I never really dealt with it. I told myself I had. I went to class. I smiled. I kept moving. But inside," she pressed a hand against her chest, "I was terrified of being alone."

Something tightened in my throat. "I know now that I had attachment issues," she continued. "I clung to anyone who made me feel safe." She looked down at her wedding ring, still hanging from the chain around her neck. "Your father became that person. We dated through university. Everyone said we were the perfect couple. And maybe, for a while, we were."

Emma quietly asked, "Did he love you?"

Mom didn’t answer immediately. When she finally did, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think he loved me the best way he knew how. But love isn’t always equal. I loved him more." The words hit harder than I expected. "I would have followed him anywhere. He never would’ve done the same for me."

No one interrupted. After a moment, she continued. "When we graduated, I got a really good job offer. It was in another state."

Emma blinked. "You never told us that."

"I almost accepted," Mom said. "But then I looked around this house." She glanced toward the hallway. "My parents built this place. They filled every room with memories. I couldn’t imagine selling it. Your father said we didn’t have to. ’Why leave?’ he told me. ’We already have a home.’ It made sense. No rent. Just property taxes. So we stayed."

Her eyes softened. "Then you came along." She smiled at me. "My first baby."

I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. "You screamed every night for three months," she said.

Emma laughed. "I believe it."

"I was a very demanding baby," I said.

"You still are," Emma teased.

I reached over and shoved her shoulder. "Rude."

Mom laughed. Then her expression warmed again. "Two years later came Emma." Emma smiled proudly. "The favorite child," she declared. "You wish," I said. "And then," Mom reached over and squeezed Noah’s hand, "our miracle."

Noah frowned. "Why am I the miracle?"

"Because the doctors weren’t sure I could have another baby," she said.

His eyes widened. "I didn’t know that."

"There are a lot of things you don’t know," she replied gently.

The room became quiet again. Mom looked down at her hands. "It was after Noah was born that everything started changing." The warmth in her voice disappeared. "He started coming home later. Then later. And later. I’d ask where he’d been. He’d tell me work. I believed him." Her fingers twisted together. "Then he started criticizing me. ’Why isn’t dinner ready?’ ’Why does the house look like this?’ ’Do you ever brush your hair anymore?’ ’Can’t you try looking nice for once?’"

Each sentence landed like a slap.

"I kept thinking maybe he was right," she said, looking at us with watery eyes. "Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. So I tried harder. I woke up earlier. I cooked more. I cleaned more. I smiled more. I apologized more. But it was never enough."

Emma’s jaw tightened. "He made you think it was your fault," she said.

Mom gave a tiny nod. "That’s what emotional abuse does. It convinces you that if you just become better, the hurting will stop."

My chest hurt. Because I remembered. Not everything. Just pieces. Dad yelling. Mom crying behind a locked bedroom door. Emma covering my ears. Noah asking why Mommy was sick all the time.

Mom continued. "Then he got promoted. He became branch manager. Suddenly there was more money. More business trips. More expensive clothes. More people telling him how successful he was." She laughed bitterly. "I think that’s when he decided he’d outgrown me." Her voice cracked. "He actually told me once, ’You’re not in my league anymore.’"

Emma’s eyes flashed with anger. "In your house," she said quietly.

Mom nodded once. "The house my parents left me. The house we lived in without paying rent. And somehow," she smiled painfully, "I still thought I could save our marriage."

Nobody said anything. "There was so much stress," she continued. "I stopped sleeping. I was always exhausted. My joints hurt. I’d wake up feeling like I’d run a marathon. I ignored it. I thought I was just tired. But it kept getting worse. So I went to the doctor."

She paused. "The day they diagnosed me, I came home early." The room felt impossibly still. "I thought I’d tell him. I thought we’d figure it out together." Her eyes filled with tears. "But when I opened the front door, his clothes were gone."

Emma covered her mouth. "No," she whispered.

Mom nodded. "So were his shoes. His suitcase. His laptop. Everything. He didn’t even wait for me to come home."

My own eyes burned. "What did he say?" I struggled to speak.

Mom looked toward the hallway. "Noah," she said quietly.

He immediately stood. "Yeah?"

"In my bedroom. Top drawer. There’s a little wooden box. Can you bring it to me?"

He disappeared down the hallway and returned a minute later with a small carved trinket box. Mom held it carefully in her lap. Her fingers lingered on the lid before she finally opened it. Inside was a single folded letter.

"That’s it," she whispered. "The only thing he left behind."

Emma stared. "One letter?"

Mom nodded. "He didn’t call. He didn’t come back. He left one letter and disappeared."

I couldn’t believe it. Then something clicked. A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "He comes back now," I whispered, "because I’m dating Justin?" The words tasted bitter. "What game is he playing?"

No one answered. Finally, Noah spoke. His voice was calm and steady. "We have each other," he said. We all looked at him. "He doesn’t get to decide when he’s our father. He gave that up. He has no moral ground to stand on."

I reached over and took Mom’s hand. "You don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore," I said.

Emma moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We’re not little kids anymore. We’re here now."

Noah smiled softly. "And we’re not going anywhere."

Mom looked at each of us. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. For the first time in years, she wasn’t crying because she was alone. She was crying because she finally realized she wasn’t.

I squeezed her hand tighter. "We have each other," I said. "And that’s enough."

Emma nodded. "It always will be."

Noah smiled. "Always."

Mom closed the little wooden box and held it against her chest. For the first time in a long time, our family didn’t feel broken. It felt like it was finally beginning to heal.