Bridgette's POV
"I'm getting married, Bridgette." My mother's sharp voice pierced the air as she walked into the room, her lips in a tight smile. The glass of scotch I'd been holding for a while slipped from my fingers as waves of shock spasmed through my body.
That's impossible.
"You don't mean it." I chuckled, staring at the mess beneath my feet, the amber liquid slowly seeping away. "You can't tell me you're getting married."
Her tone softened. "I really am, Bridgette."
The brutal truth was like ice water splashed hard on my face. I shook my head, my eyes twitching as I refused to accept her words. "You're not getting married."
"Bridgette!"
I pushed myself off the couch, almost bruising my feet on the broken shards of glass scattered across the marble tiles. "I thought we already settled this," I yelled harshly. "You promised me you were never doing this again. You made me believe you."
"Why do you have to be so selfish, Bridgette?" Her raspy voice made my throat tighten. "Haven't I suffered enough to get my own happy ending?" She choked, her eyes brimming with tears as she took a step toward me.
I wasn't buying it.
Those tears weren't going to make me change my mind.
She was willing to stab me in the back for her own happiness.
She was willing to take a step to move on when I was still buried in my misery.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I pushed her hands away. "A happy ending? You want a happy ending when I can't get those memories out of my mind?"
I raked my hands through my hair, frustration sinking deep into my bones. "You've forgotten everything? All I... all I had to endure?"
"No," she said firmly. "I haven't forgotten, Bridgette. It still claws at my mind every time I think about it, darling." She approached me again, but I stretched out my palm, my whole body trembling with rage. "Don't you dare touch me."
"I—I love him, Bridgette," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "Let me be with him. Please."
"You can't be with him."
"I was only married once, Bridgette. Do I have to suffer for my whole life because of the past? I made a mistake, I know, but I did fight for you. I did."
I laughed again.
This time, it wasn't humorous.
"You fought for me? You were the cause of everything. You brought him into our home!"
"He made my life miserable too." Tears spilled down her cheeks as she pointed at her chest. "He punched me, tortured m—"
"I was only a child," I cut in, "but you couldn't stop him from doing it. Do you know how hard it was to live with myself? And now you think you deserve a second chance?"
"That's it, Bridgette!" My mother snapped, her voice rising to a higher octave. "I've had enough of your tantrums. I didn't come to live for you—I am your mother. You have no right to dictate my life!"
My eyes widened with horror. "Are you really doing this?"
"I have learned from my mistakes, honey." Her tone softened as she reached for me. "I've seen love with the right person. Let me be happy."
"Happy?" I spat. The familiar word was like poison to my very being. "You think you can just chase happiness after what that monster did to me? To us?"
My mother's face tightened as she avoided my gaze.
She had already made her decision.
She was going to get married.
"I can't believe this! You're going to make the past repeat itself. You promised to protect me."
"That's what I'm trying to do," she said desperately, holding onto my palm like the guilt was driving her insane.
"Aren't you worried that history might repeat itself?"
She shook her head. "I can't let fear control my life anymore. I deserve to be happy, Bridgette. We both do." She reached out and caressed my cheeks. "This is our chance to let go. I want you to heal—why won't you heal?!"
"Because it still hurts!" I snapped, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Because every time I think about it, it feels like I'm back there again. Trapped. Broken. Helpless. I don't want that to happen anymore."
"It won't," she said firmly, wiping my tears softly. Her lips trembled, and for a moment, she looked as though she might cry again. But instead, she pressed her forehead against mine. "I know it hurts," she whispered. "I know it feels like you'll never get past it. But we can't keep living in the shadow of what he did. We deserve more than that. You deserve more than that."
I pulled my hands away, stepping back as my chest heaved. "You don't understand," I spat. "You don't know what it's like to carry this... this thing inside you every day. To feel it consuming your whole being while you try to act like it isn't."
"Then tell me! Tell me what you're carrying, Bridgette. Help me understand."
But I couldn't.
The words were stuck in my throat, tangled with the memories I couldn't bear to face. Instead, I turned away, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could merge the broken pieces of me together.
"You'll hate me if I go through with this," my mother said after a long while. I couldn't bear to look at her, but she continued. "I know you will. But Bridgette, I can't keep punishing myself for what he did. And I can't let you keep punishing yourself either."
Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
For a moment, I thought about the way things used to be—before him, before everything fell apart. But those days felt like a lifetime ago, and the girl I was then didn't exist anymore.
"I need time," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't promise I'll ever be okay with this, but I need time to figure out how to live with this."
"Take all the time you need, Bridgette. Just promise me you'll try." I could tell she was crying by how soft her voice was, but I didn't respond to her last statement. Instead, I walked away, leaving her standing there with tears in her eyes and hope in her voice.
And for the first time in years, I let myself wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a way to move forward without being consumed by the past.