Charis
My mother looked up at me, her face streaked with tears and mascara. "Please, Charis. Please come home. We can fix this. We can make it better."
"You can't fix him," I said quietly. "And you can't fix what he's done. It's too late for that."
"It's never too late," she insisted. "He's sick, Charis. He's not himself—"
"He's exactly himself," I interrupted. "This is who he's always been. You just pretended not to see it."
"Charis, I'm your mother—"
"Are you?" I asked, and I saw her freeze. "Are you really my mother, Eva? Or is that another lie?"
Her face went white. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"Charis, that's enough." Rhett came to me and tried to reach for my hand, but I brushed him off. Everything was beyond redemption now.
The pain I felt in my heart, combined with the fury, was seeking an outlet, which I was sure that if I kept it in one more night, I would explode from it.
"Charis…" my mother trailed off.
