About Your Parents
Tears streamed down her face faster now. "It’s just me and Jules now. Rowan’s been helping with Jules’ medication he’s been sending money, doing everything he can."
I frowned, arms folding tightly across my chest. "What about the money I sent?"
She stiffened, guilt flashing briefly across her face. "I...I never used it for myself. I swear. Every penny went to Jules. Medications. Doctor visits. She's been so sick, Remi. One moment she is better next she isn't. It's awful. I can't remember the last time I slept properly."
I searched her face, looking for any hint of deception but all I saw was raw, broken desperation.
Before I could say anything else, she suddenly knelt down right there on the curb, the gravel scraping at her knees. She didn’t care.
"Please, Remi," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Please. I beg you."
I stared at her, stunned, my chest tight and uncomfortable. "If you're here to ask for money, I don’t have any to give you," I said bluntly. "You already know that."
Her head shook violently. "No. No, it’s not about money. I don't need the money. I just..." She looked up at me with wide, pleading eyes. "I just need you to come see Jules. She asks for you sometimes. You’re the only family she still wants to see."
Pain sliced through my chest, sharp and immediate. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, breathing hard.
"I already told you," I said quietly, my voice hard. "I want nothing to do with your family. I don’t want to dredge up all the unpleasant memories."
"Please," she whispered again, hands clasped together tightly as if praying. "Please, Remi."
I turned slightly, my fists clenching at my sides.
The word please sounded so different coming from her mouth.
I remembered the countless times when I was younger standing in front of her, begging for kindness, begging to be heard, to be seen, to be loved. And every time, she turned her back. Every time, she walked away coldly, like I was nothing.
And now she said please like it should erase everything.
"I remember how many times I said please," I said, my voice breaking slightly despite myself. "And you never answered."
Aunt Victoria let out a broken sob, rocking slightly on her knees. "I know," she whispered. "I know I don't deserve anything from you. I know I don’t have the right to even look at you after what we did. But Jules…Jules is innocent in all of this. She’s still a child. She’s scared. And she misses you."
I closed my eyes tightly, hating the way my heart cracked open, hating the part of me that still cared, even after everything.
"I don’t know if I can," I said quietly, my voice raw.
"You don't have to forgive me," she said quickly, desperately. "You don't even have to stay long. Just... come see her. Just once. Please."
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I opened my mouth to respond—but no words came out.
I didn't know if I could go back to that world.
Didn't know if I was strong enough to stand there and not break all over again.
But the image of Jules—a little girl lying in a hospital bed, waiting, hoping—haunted me.
And somehow, even after everything, the thought of her needing me... made it almost impossible to say no.
I stared down at Aunt Victoria for a long, heavy moment, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
And I realized I had a choice to make—one that wasn’t as easy as walking away anymore.
Not when it wasn’t about them.
It was about Jules.
And it was about the part of me that still remembered what it felt like to be the kid no one showed up for.
I looked at Aunt Victoria as she cried. She was confusing me I couldn't seem to gauge exactly what she wanted.
One minute she was sobbing, begging on her knees. The next, she was scrambling for words, like she had something more to say but didn't know how to say it.
"Remi," she whispered hoarsely, wiping her face again. "If you don't want to listen to me about Jules... then maybe we could at least talk inside about something else?"
I stiffened. Every instinct inside me screamed no. I didn't want her in Rowan’s home. I didn't want the mess of the past bleeding into the fragile peace we were just starting to build.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said tightly, stepping back a little.
"Please," she said, desperate now. "It's not about money. It's not even just about Jules anymore."
"Then what is it?" I asked sharply, my patience running thin.
Victoria hesitated, glancing around like she was scared someone would overhear. Finally, she reached into her old battered purse and pulled out a worn, slightly crumpled photograph.
She cradled it carefully, almost reverently, wiping her tears with the back of her hand before holding it out toward me.
"I just want to let this out of my chest a little. Just in case I die, I know I did one good thing.”
I frowned.
“Go on…”
She looked at me with red eyes. “It's about your parents," she whispered.
I frowned, suspicion flaring instantly. "My parents?"
She nodded, her hands trembling. "This photo... I left it for you. In your old house. I—"
"You left the picture?" I cut in, disbelief flooding my chest. "You broke into my house?"
Victoria shook her head frantically. "I didn't break in. I—I acted like one of the cleaning staff. Wore a uniform, covered my face a little. I didn’t want to scare you. I just thought..." Her voice cracked again. "I thought it was the least I could do after everything I stole from you. After everything they made me do."
I stared at her, the blood rushing loudly in my ears.
Her words—everything they made me do—settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, overwhelmed.
"Get in the car," I said finally, my voice tight. "Now."
Victoria nodded quickly, clutching the photograph tightly against her chest as she stood and stumbled toward my car. I walked stiffly behind her, heart hammering against my ribs.
Once she was inside, I slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door harder than I meant to.
Neither of us spoke during the short drive up the private lane toward Rowan’s estate. The gates opened smoothly, but as I pulled forward, I noticed immediately the guards' stiffened postures, their hands twitching toward their radios.
Their eyes locked on Victoria through the windshield, suspicion flashing immediately across their faces.
I couldn’t blame them.
Victoria looked wild—hair messy, eyes red, clothes wrinkled and damp from her tears.
I rolled the window down partway as one of the senior guards approached, his hand resting lightly against his hip.
"Miss Laurent," he greeted politely, but his eyes flickered warily toward Victoria. "Is everything alright?"
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