CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

C HAPTER T HIRTY -F OUR

It was the third day since she’d been released from the hospital. Shannon had been lucky—the bullet had gone through her upper arm cleanly, missing bone and nerves. Trey had been notified and had met her at the hospital, insisting she stay overnight. Medical staff took X-rays, cleaned the wounds, and hooked her up to an IV to administer antibiotics and medications. She was released the next morning.

Things could have turned out much differently. Her arm was in a sling. She felt stiff and sore, and there wasn’t much she could do but sit and think. Mostly about Chloe being her mom. Despite the horrible loss she’d felt when Nicolas had aimed his gun at Chloe, Shannon was still pissed off. She couldn’t help it; she’d been rejected twice by the woman.

To make matters worse, Chloe Leavitt had been spending a lot of time with Mac, making sure she got to and from school and did her homework. Chloe came over every chance she got, bringing hot meals for the entire family, making sure everyone was eating and getting plenty of rest. Acting as if she were a mother-of-the-year contender!

There was a knock on the door. Shannon didn’t budge. She knew it wasn’t Trey because she had just talked to him on the phone. And Mac would be in school for another hour.

The door came open and she heard Chloe’s voice. “Hello. Is anyone home?”

Shannon tossed the book she’d been reading and heaved herself off the couch. Red-hot pain shot up her arm, making her wince. She headed for the door, livid. Sure enough, Chloe was walking right into her home. “What are you doing here? Did Mac leave the door unlocked?”

“Trey gave me a key,” Chloe said, “in case there was an emergency and someone needed to get inside.”

Shannon grunted. When Trey had found out that Chloe was her biological mother, he’d been delighted. You found her! But then Shannon explained how angry that made her. Chloe had given her up not once, but twice. Shannon wanted nothing to do with her. Trey felt she just needed time, but Shannon wouldn’t listen.

“There is no emergency. Please leave.” Shannon tried to use her arm to gesture toward the door. A searing pain coursed through her.

With concern lining her face, Chloe came rushing toward her, cradling a shoebox. “What is it? Do you need to go to the ER?”

Shannon wasn’t falling for the frantic act. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Chloe asked.

“Pretending to care about me and trying so hard to be my mother, when we both know you suck as a parent. You’re my bio mom, the person I thought would change my world and make me whole again. It’s inconceivable.”

“Why?”

“Because you being my mom is a joke,” Shannon said, going for the dagger and driving deep. “We both know you can hardly take care of the three kids you have at home. What makes you think you have room for me, too?” Shannon’s phone buzzed. She walked back to the living room, where her phone was, and saw that Trey was calling again. She picked up the call.

“I thought you might want to know your mother is on her way over.”

“She’s not my mother. And she’s already here. Did you really give her a key?”

Trey said, “I was worried about you being home alone.”

“Have you talked to the contractor about making those changes to our new house in Midtown?” Shannon asked, sticking to the lie she’d already told Chloe about her plans to move—something she and Trey had not discussed.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Wonderful,” Shannon said, as if he’d responded to her question. “A new house. A new—”

“I get what you’re doing,” Trey said. “You might want to know that Chloe asked me about our plans to move. I set her straight. She knows we didn’t buy a house in Midtown.”

“Thanks a lot,” Shannon said. “I have to go. I love you. Goodbye.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Give her a chance,” he said before hanging up.

Shannon put her phone on the coffee table. Chloe was staring at her. “I wanted to buy a house in Midtown,” Shannon said, unable to let the fabrication go. “It was a purple Victorian on Nineteenth Street, but someone else got it. Fuckers.”

“I know you’re angry at me,” Chloe said. “I get it. I do.”

Shannon looked away, her gaze settling on the wall.

“My reluctance to meet you was a mistake. It was never a reflection of my feelings toward you, but rather my own fears and uncertainties. I was wrong to have closed myself off to the possibility of meeting you. I deeply regret it. Please,” Chloe said, taking one step closer. “I apologize for any hurt or disappointment my actions caused.” She swallowed. “I do hope you can find a way to forgive me and we can start over.”

Although the speech sounded rehearsed, some of the tension in Shannon’s shoulders left her. “Please go,” she said, turning toward the window overlooking Forty-Fifth Street, not wanting Chloe to see her eyes welling and her heart melting. Shannon had wanted to hurt Chloe just as Rosella had wanted to hurt everyone in the neighborhood. For the first time since she’d come to live here, she knew how Rosella might have felt. Frustrated. Angry. Alone.

Footsteps sounded as Chloe made her way to the kitchen before heading for the door. Shannon didn’t look up until she heard the door click shut. She sank back onto the couch, wiped her eyes, and didn’t bother to get up when she saw the shoebox sitting on the kitchen island.

Shannon took a pain pill after Chloe left and went to bed. Two hours later, she heard someone enter the house. It had to be Mac, since it was that time of day. She climbed out of bed.

“Have you read these?” Mac asked as Shannon made her way downstairs.

“No. What is it?”

“Letters. Lots of them.”

Shannon stopped at the landing, where she noticed Mac pull a letter from the shoebox Chloe had left. Chloe had been bringing food over for days now, and Shannon had assumed the box was filled with more baked goods.

“I think these are from Nana,” Mac said as she slid a letter from its envelope.

Shannon frowned. “Who’s Nana?”

Mac stared at Shannon, unblinking, until suddenly her shoulders sagged and her expression softened. “You really are upset with Chloe, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Dad and I thought you would be so excited to have found your biological mom.” Mac sighed. “I don’t think I ever stopped to imagine how difficult it must have been for you growing up without a stable family.” Mac’s head tilted slightly. “I admire you so much for everything you’ve overcome and for the amazing person you are. I know it’s not easy for you to talk about your past, but I want you to know that I love you, and I’m so grateful to have you as my mom.”

Shannon’s eyes welled as Mac came to her and hugged her good side.

When Mac pulled away, she said, “I won’t talk about Chloe anymore. I don’t need to go over there after school, either.”

Shannon wiped her eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.”

Mac looked down at the letter in her hand. “What are these letters?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

Mac started reading aloud:

My Dearest Daughter,

I have written to you so many times over the years, wishing I could explain myself. I was fifteen when I gave birth to you. I didn’t want to give you away. My parents forced me to leave school for a year and gave me no choice but to hand you over to the Sierra Adoption Agency. When you were sixteen, I was thirty-one and getting married, and I called the agency in hopes of learning more about your life. They assured me that you had a childhood filled with joy and security and were living your best life.

Four years later, the agency reached out to tell me you wanted to meet. I panicked. I had just miscarried after learning of my husband’s infidelity. And yet as I write this, it sounds hollow ... like an excuse. The truth is, I was afraid to meet you. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the questions you might ask and the disappointment I might see in your eyes. I was afraid of dredging up so many painful memories of the past. Afraid to tell my husband since he didn’t know about you. I was afraid of being judged. Afraid of how you would fit into a life I was struggling to build.

It wasn’t until my older children reached the age of fifteen that I thought more of how the adoption might have impacted your life. It seemed suddenly like yesterday that I was fifteen myself, navigating the difficult journey that took me from child to adult. I remembered how confusing the teenage years could be. How they can make you question yourself, make you wonder what your future holds. I began to worry you might have grown up feeling lost and that maybe you wondered at times why the woman who gave birth to you not only gave you away but also refused to meet you.

When I do finally muster the courage to make the call that I should have made twenty years ago, my hope is I’m not too late and that you’ll give me the chance to be in your life in whatever form is comfortable for you.

Your Mother

Shannon was speechless, overwhelmed with emotion. She felt deprived of air.

Mac riffled through the box. “It looks like she wrote you a bunch of letters.” She slipped the letter into the envelope and put it back inside the box. She brought the shoebox to Shannon. “I think you should read these.” After a short pause, Mac said, “Do you remember the quote you read to me when I was super mad at Dad for not letting me go camping with my friend?”

“You were only eight.”

“Well, you told me the same quote more than once: ‘The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.’ It’s a quote by Mahatma Gandhi.”

Rolling her eyes, Shannon took the box and headed back upstairs, where she went to her bedroom and shut the door. Sitting on a cushioned chaise near the window where the sunlight poured into the room, she found a letter written on her first birthday and began to read.