The silence hung heavy between us, each second stretching painfully as my mother absorbed my last words. I watched her face crumple, the weight of my accusation—that both my parents had failed to care for me—hitting her with full force.
"Isabella, please..." Mariella whispered, her voice breaking. "I know I failed you terribly, but—"
"But what?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within me. "Are you going to tell me you did care, when you never once came back to check if I was alive or dead?"
She flinched as if I'd slapped her. "I didn't think your father would allow me to see you."
"You didn't even try," I countered. "Not once in fifteen years."
Mariella looked down at her hands, which trembled slightly in her lap. "Would you have returned to Lockwood if your husband hadn't found you?" I pressed.
After a moment's hesitation, she shook her head. "No," she admitted quietly. "I was too ashamed, too afraid to face what I'd done."
