23. Ally

Chapter 23

Ally

I pulled up to my mother's house, a quaint two-story nestled in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. The house had always been a beacon of stability, with its well-kept garden and freshly painted white picket fence. Roses climbed up the trellis, and the lawn was always neatly trimmed, thanks to my mother's meticulous nature. It was something she could control, even through the chaos.

I parked the car and cut the engine, letting out a shaky breath. My eyes stung from crying, and I glanced in the rearview mirror. No amount of wiping could erase the evidence of my tears. My cheeks were blotchy, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. There was no hiding this from her.

I took another deep breath and opened the door, stepping out onto the cobblestone path leading to the front door. Each step felt heavier than the last. I tried to summon some semblance of composure but failed miserably.

As I reached the porch, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorbell. This house held so many memories—some comforting, some painful—but it was always a place where I found refuge. Today, though, it felt different. Today, it felt like confronting everything I'd been running from.

I pressed the doorbell, hearing its familiar chime echo inside. A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing my mother’s concerned face. Her eyes immediately softened when she saw me.

“Ally?” Her voice was gentle but filled with worry.

I tried to muster a smile, but it faltered halfway. "Hi Mom."

She stepped aside to let me in, her hand brushing my arm lightly as if to offer silent comfort. Inside, the house smelled of lavender and freshly baked cookies—scents that usually brought solace but now felt like a cruel reminder of simpler times.

"Wanna talk about it?" She led me into the living room where everything was immaculately in place—the knitted throws on the couch, the family photos lining the mantle.

I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling its familiar softness envelop me as I struggled to find words that wouldn't unravel me further.

I hugged a couch pillow to my chest, feeling the softness press against my racing heart. The words formed a lump in my throat, but I knew I had to say them.

"Mom, I'm in love with Nick's dad."

She blinked, absorbing the weight of my confession. "Okay," she said slowly, her voice careful.

"It's not like..." I took a deep breath. "Nick and I broke up. You know that. I went to work. His dad came in. I didn't know it was his dad at the time. We talked for hours."

A small smile crept onto my face as I remembered those conversations. Thomas had been so different from anyone I'd met before—steady, kind, and unexpectedly charming, even if he was rough around the edges.

"And then..." My mother's brow arched, a knowing look crossing her face.

I felt my cheeks flush. "We spent more time together," I said quickly. "I thought it wasn't going to be serious. I just got out of a relationship, but..."

"But he was that good?" Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Mom!" I exclaimed, but a reluctant laugh escaped me. "Well, yes, but it was more than that."

"It always is," she said with a smirk.

I sighed, squeezing the pillow tighter as if it could anchor me.

"But?" she prodded.

"It got complicated," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression softening into one of understanding and concern. She reached out and gently placed her hand on mine.

"He asked me to go to this event," I said, feeling the weight of my words settle between us. "It wasn't until he explained to me what it was that I realized he worked at Crestwood. And even then, it took a little longer for me to figure out he was Nick's dad."

My mother’s brow furrowed in confusion. "How did you figure it out?"

"I think I was in his office and saw a picture or something," I replied, wrinkling my nose at the memory. "I tried to end things, but Tom wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to make things work."

"And you?" she asked gently, her eyes searching mine.

"I… I wanted to be with him," I admitted, my voice cracking. "But Nick found out. I don't even know how. But he confronted his father at the Masquerade?—"

"And that was when the fight happened," she finished for me.

My eyes went wide in shock. "You knew about that?"

"Honey, everyone in Michigan knew about it," she said flatly. "It's not every day a college hockey coach and his NHL player son get into a fistfight at a charity event." She paused, looking at me intently. "Why did they?"

I sighed, shaking my head as if trying to shake off the memories. "It doesn't matter," I said softly. "I didn't want Tom to do that for me. I didn't want to come between him and Nick. At least Nick's father is still around. I didn't want to be the reason Tom wasn't there."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotions and unresolved tensions. My mother squeezed my hand, offering a silent gesture of support.

"Ally," she began cautiously, "you can't carry the weight of their relationship on your shoulders."

"I know," I whispered, though it felt like a hollow acknowledgment.

She leaned back, her expression thoughtful. "I know you said you love him, Ally, but do you? Do you really? Is he worth all of… this?"

The question hung in the air like an unfinished melody, waiting for resolution.

"I do," I finally confessed, feeling a tear slip down my cheek.

"Then you need to be honest with him and with yourself," she advised gently.

I nodded, knowing she was right, but feeling overwhelmed by the complexity of my situation.

My mother sat down next to me, taking my hands in hers. Her grip was warm and reassuring, a lifeline I desperately needed.

"Just because your father left us for another woman doesn't mean you're the other woman," she said gently. "Or that Tom will do that to you."

"I know he won't," I replied, my voice wavering slightly. "He wants to marry me."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I might have to meet this Tom..."

I managed a small smile, but it didn't reach my eyes. The weight of everything still pressed heavily on my chest.

"Honey," she said seriously, searching my face for any sign of doubt. "You know that, right?"

"But what if Nick can repair his relationship with his father but doesn't because of me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Well, what's been the nature of their relationship?" she asked, her tone probing yet gentle.

I paused, thinking about it for the first time. "Honestly? It's never been good. Tom says he tries, but Nick's mom created a wedge between them as early as possible. He tried to stay..."

"It never works when you stay," my mother murmured, almost to herself.

"What?" I looked at her, confusion etched on my face.

"Honey," she began, her eyes distant, as if recalling a memory long buried. "Me and your father had a loving relationship, but it wasn't perfect. I got the sense that we weren't going to wind up together, and there were a couple of red flags early on I noticed but ignored in the name of love."

"Like what?" I asked, curiosity mingling with concern.

"It doesn't matter," she said with a dismissive wave. "What does matter is you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and while I'm grateful to God your father and I aren't together, I can still acknowledge that without him, I wouldn't have you." She gently touched my cheeks, her eyes softening with affection. "He chose to walk away from us, Ally. It had nothing to do with you."

"But—"

"And you're not responsible for other people's relationships," she continued firmly. "If you broke up a marriage, that's a different situation. But this? This has nothing to do with you. And quite frankly, it sounds like it's been going on since you were a baby."

Her words hung in the air between us like a lifeline tossed into turbulent waters. They made sense logically, but emotionally? Emotionally, I still felt tangled in the web of their complicated history.

My mother squeezed my hands one last time before letting go. "You need to live your life for you, Ally."

The conversation drifted into silence again, each of us lost in our thoughts and emotions. The living room felt both comforting and suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on the truths we were unearthing.

"I'm assuming there's more to it, though?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

I nodded, feeling the weight of my confession settle in my chest. "I left," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I stopped answering his calls. Like I said, I didn't want them to hate each other because of me."

My mother nodded, waiting for me to continue. Her patience felt like both a comfort and a challenge.

This was the hardest part. I had never told anyone this. My chest tightened, and tears sprang into my eyes. I looked at her, searching for some strength in her steady gaze.

"Honey?" she asked, her voice gentle but urgent. "Honey, what is it?"

I took a deep breath, feeling the words stick in my throat like jagged stones. "I found out I was pregnant," I finally managed to say, my voice breaking. "With Thomas's baby."

Her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't interrupt. She just reached out and took my hand again, her grip firmer this time.

"I... I lost the baby," I continued, the tears flowing freely now. "A few weeks after I found out. Mom, I lost — I didn't even know what happened. I went to work, and I started feeling moisture… There wasn't even cramps. Not at first. And I checked. I was bleeding. Mom, I was bleeding. I didn't understand what happened. I didn't even have my first appointment yet, so they wouldn't see me. They wouldn't check… I had to go to a clinic, and… and they couldn't confirm. They took my blood, but I had to come back in two days. If my levels were dropping…" I shook my head. "I knew, though. Deep down, I knew. I couldn't function in those forty-eight hours. And when I saw the number…" I choked on a sob. "I didn't understand why this was happening. It felt like I was being punished. They couldn't tell me either, only that it's more common than people think and that I could probably have healthy children."

My mother's face crumpled with sorrow, and she pulled me into a tight embrace. The warmth of her hug was both comforting and overwhelming.

"Oh, Ally," she whispered into my hair, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that." She sucked in a breath. "Did he know?"

I clung to her, letting myself be held for the first time in what felt like forever. The tears came harder now, each sob shaking my entire body.

"I didn't want to burden anyone," I choked out between sobs. "I thought... I thought it was my fault. That I was just stressed because of… because I wanted to be with him so bad, but I wouldn't let myself because… because I didn't want to come between them."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes. "It wasn't your fault," she said firmly, wiping away my tears with her thumbs. "None of this is your fault."

"But it feels like it is," I whispered, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me.

"I know," she said softly. "But you have to let go of that guilt if you ever want to heal."

I nodded weakly, knowing she was right, but unsure how to start.

"Do you plan on telling him?" my mother asked, her eyes searching mine for any sign of resolution.

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "Nick... Nick found out. He saw me come out of the clinic and accused me of being pregnant and getting an abortion. I never corrected him, but..." My voice wavered as I tried to keep my emotions in check. "He's been blackmailing me with it. He wants me to do him favors..."

My mother’s eyes widened in shock, but she remained silent, waiting for me to continue. It was easier to talk now that I had finally confessed everything. The words flowed out like a dam breaking.

"I didn't want Tom to worry about it, but..."

"But?" she prompted gently.

"Tom won this really prestigious award and Kara asked me to take pictures," I said, the memory of that night still fresh in my mind. "We reconnected. I tried not to, but..."

"You couldn't help it," she said softly, understanding etched into her features.

"And Nick is threatening me," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "He got me fired. And Nick's mom knows too and wants me to get Tom to give her money or else she'll tell him."

My mother’s expression hardened with resolve. "Ally, you need to take back your power."

"And how do I do that?" I asked.

She sighed, squeezing my hands tightly. "You do what's right, honey," she said gently but firmly. "You tell Tom the truth."

I let out a breath, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

"What if he hates me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Honey, if he hates you for something that wasn't your fault, then that tells you everything you need to know about him. But I have a feeling he isn't like that."

"How do you know?" I asked, leaning back against the couch, feeling the cushions conform to my tired body.

"Call it mother's intuition," she replied with a gentle smile.

The room seemed to close in on me, every corner echoing with the enormity of what lay ahead. Could I really tell Thomas? Could I risk his anger, his rejection?

"Honey, I'm sure he wants to be there for you," she said softly. "And he probably doesn't understand why you pushed him away in the first place. If he cares about you the way I think he does, he'll be there for you. You'll both be able to mourn together."

"And... and if he doesn't?" I asked, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Then you let yourself heal," she replied firmly. "You've already gone through the worst of it. And you survived. If you can do that, you can handle anything. I don't think people understand the devastation a miscarriage does to women internally."

"You... you had one?" I asked hesitantly.

She shook her head slowly. "My mother did," she said quietly. "Before me."

"I didn't know," I murmured, feeling a pang of sorrow for a grandmother I never truly understood.

"We don't talk about this," she continued. "As a society, I mean. My mother didn't even tell me. I found an old journal after she died... She had to bear that on her own, like a secret shame. But it wasn't her fault, either. Honey, most of the time, we don't understand why it happens. It just does."

"But..." My eyes started to water again. "I was only pregnant six, maybe seven weeks," I said, my voice breaking with each word. "I didn't get to hear a heartbeat. I didn't... I don't know why I'm still upset about it. Some women lose their babies at twenty weeks, even later. I feel like I don't deserve to still be sad over something I only knew about for a week, maybe ten days."

She grabbed my hand tightly, her eyes full of compassion and understanding.

"You are entitled to mourn however long or short you need," she said firmly. "Every woman is different. And babies represent hope. The future. You're mourning that hope—the thought of what could have been and what you'll never know. And that's a lot."

I started crying again, unable to hold back the floodgates any longer.

She held me close as my sobs wracked my body, offering silent comfort in her embrace.

The crying felt cathartic, as if everything I'd held back all this time finally found release in those tears.

I would tell Tom somehow. Because she was right. I had to.

But right now, I needed to come to terms with the fact that I had lost a baby I never even knew I wanted. And nothing I could do or say was going to bring that back to me.