Chapter 257

Ava’s POV

A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. The right thing? My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms.

“You thought caging me was the right thing?” I turned to face her, anger surging, years of resentment rising. “You thought controlling every aspect of my life was the right thing? Making sure I never stepped out of line, never questioned you, never lived?”

She flinched, subtly, but I saw it. It only fueled my anger.

“I spent my childhood striving for your approval,” I continued, my voice rising. “I did everything you asked. I followed your rules. I remained silent when I wanted to scream; I let you mold me into your ideal daughter. And still, it was never enough.”

She breathed shakily, but didn't look at me. I saw her shoulders tremble, but I didn't care. Not yet.

“You acted perfect, as if you held all the answers, as if you alone knew what was best. But you didn't, did you?” I shook my head, the weight of her secrets pressing against my chest.

“You kept secrets, Mother. You built your life on them. Crystal, your mother, your sister—you never told me. You let me believe I knew my family when I didn't know half of it.”

She breathed again, a slow shudder, but remained silent.

“And then there was the curse,” I whispered, my voice shaking, not from sadness, but rage. “You involved me in something I didn't understand from birth. I was cursed, and you never warned me, never prepared me.”

Finally, she turned. Her eyes were glossy, her expression almost vacant. But I didn’t care. Not now.

“You made me hate myself,” I whispered. “Because I lacked a wolf. You let me believe I was less. You watched me struggle, question myself, and said nothing.”

Her lips parted, but I didn’t stop.

“I spent my life trying to earn your love, to be more for your acceptance. And you just… you just let me.”

She gasped, as if my words physically pained her. Good. They should.

“You and Father pushed me into Damien’s arms.”

This time, her breath hitched.

“You made me trust him. You made me prefer him. I let him into my life, replacing my father, and all the while, he was a psychopath. And you—” My throat burned, my vision blurred. “You let it happen. Both of you. You let me turn to him instead of you.”

Silence hung heavy. Then she whispered, “I didn’t know.”

That broke something in me.

“You didn’t know?” I repeated, my voice cracking. “You knew everything, Mother. You always knew everything.”

She exhaled shakily, closing her eyes briefly before looking at me again.

“I didn’t know it would end like this. I didn’t know he was like that. I didn’t know—” She stopped, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Another bitter laugh escaped, my chest aching.

“You weren’t protecting me,” I said. “You were controlling me. There’s a difference.”

She flinched again, this time without trying to hide it.

I looked at her, really looked, and saw something unexpected. She looked defeated. Her hands trembled; her posture wasn't the strong, unyielding one I knew. She looked… small. Smaller.

“And the worst part?” I whispered. “Even now, lost and hopeless, you still make me feel like I’m wrong for being angry.”

Her breath caught.

“Even now,” I continued, my voice thick with emotion, “you make me feel guilty for feeling this way, for wanting answers, for hurting.”

I turned to the lake, gripping my pants to stop them trembling.

“I never wanted to hate you,” I murmured. “I never wanted to resent you. But you made it so easy.”

Long silence followed, broken only by the wind and water. Then, after what felt like forever, she whispered, “I was afraid.”

Afraid?

She shuddered. “Afraid you’d become like my mother or sister. I thought keeping the truth from you, keeping you safe, controlled—maybe I wouldn’t lose you, like I lost your aunt.”

I turned slowly, my stomach twisting at the rawness in her voice. “But I did lose you, didn’t I?” she whispered, a tear falling. “Not as I feared, but I lost you anyway.”

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight, my chest aching.

“You should have just been there,” I said hoarsely. “You should have let me be a daughter, not a project.”

She nodded slowly, her hands gripping her sweater. “I know.”

Silence again, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating.

I breathed slowly, tilting my head back.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I admitted quietly. “Not yet.”

She nodded. “I don’t expect you to.”

For once, she didn’t justify or make excuses. And that felt like the first honest moment in a long time.

We sat, staring at the water. For the first time, I didn't feel suffocated by her presence. I didn't know if this was healing, but maybe… just maybe… it was a start.

She broke the silence.

“My sister,” she said, testing the name. “Rosaline. She asked me to return to Italy… to stay. I don’t want to leave your father, but I can’t—”

I took a breath. “I’ll check on him, and everything else.”

Her head lifted, her eyes searching mine, unsure.

“You should go,” I continued. “Raina—Grandma.” I tested the name, then said it stronger. “Grandma is leaving. Maybe you can go with her. Maybe you can start fixing things from the beginning.”

She stared at me. Silence. Then—a single tear.

“I wish it didn’t have to come to this,” she whispered. “To lose both my children. I’m so sorry, Ava.”

I closed my eyes, my own tears falling. “We know Crystal’s a lost cause,” I admitted. “But you haven’t lost me. And I don’t want to hate you.”

I swallowed, forcing myself to speak. “I have no chance with Father. But I want to know what it’s like to have a real parent. One by blood. So if you’re truly sorry, then try. Fix this. Fix us.”

Her shoulders shook, more tears falling. Before I could hesitate, I moved, wrapping my arms around her.

She froze, rigid, as if she’d forgotten what being held felt like. Then, slowly, she yielded. Her body slumped against mine, her fingers clutching me, afraid to let go.

And she cried. Raw, open, real.

“We can’t change the past,” I murmured, my voice raw, “but if you want to fix this, you have to prove it.”

She nodded, clinging to my sweater. I exhaled, then whispered the words that made her stiffen. “Because if you don’t, Mother… I’ll walk away for good.”