Chapter 29: Thin Ice
Morning light crept through the blinds, slicing my room into jagged pieces. I'd been awake for hours, lying flat, Denis's words gnawing at me like a stray dog that wouldn't let go: "Give it a try… maybe you'll find something better."
I hated how it stuck. I hated that part of me wanted to believe him.
By noon, the silence in the apartment felt like it was suffocating me. The hum in my chest buzzed, sharp and relentless, pushing me toward her door. I knocked once—hard enough to rattle the frame.
"Mom." My voice came out flat, almost foreign.
No answer. Just the faint shuffle of feet. Finally, the door creaked open. She stood there, face pale, eyes swollen from crying. She looked… small. Fragile. For a second, I almost softened—but the Female King didn't do soft. Not anymore.
"We need to talk," I said, stepping past her without asking.
She followed, clutching her robe like a shield, voice trembling. "Ella… about last night—"
"Save it." I cut her off, planting myself by the window, staring at the pale strip of daylight outside. "I've had time to think. And…" My jaw locked, every word tasting like blood. "I'm gonna give this thing a try. Paul, your happiness, whatever the hell this is."
Her breath caught, hope flickering in her swollen eyes like a dying candle.
"But…" I turned, holding up a finger sharp enough to slice glass. "Don't get it twisted. I'm not doing this because I like him. I don't trust him. I don't even trust you right now. This isn't some family reunion moment where we hug it out and pretend Edenville hasn't already buried its claws in our lives."
She flinched like I'd slapped her but didn't speak.
"I'm doing it because someone reminded me that maybe—just maybe—people deserve a shot at being happy." My voice cracked for a heartbeat, but I forced it steady again. "You do. Dad would've wanted that for you. Doesn't mean I'm welcoming this guy with open arms. I'm watching him. And you. One wrong move, one hint of Edenville's stink on him…"
I let the sentence hang, dark and heavy, my silence louder than any threat.
Mom's lips trembled. Her shoulders seemed to fold inward as a tear slid down her cheek. "Ella… that's all I could ask for. Just a chance."
I turned toward her fully for the first time since the fight, my expression carved from stone. "Good. Because that's all you're getting. A chance. Don't expect anything more. And don't mistake this for forgiveness."
Her knees seemed to give a little as she sank onto the edge of the bed, head bowing. She nodded slowly, almost like she was scared to breathe too loud.
I headed for the door, pausing just long enough to throw my final shot over my shoulder:
"Fairy tales aren't real, Mom. Thin ice is the best I can give you… and thin ice cracks fast."
The hum in my chest stayed quiet as I left her room, but it wasn't peace—it was the silence before a storm, the kind that breaks bones and burns bridges.