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Oɱɳιʂƈιҽɳƚ Mαყ 5ƚԋ Mαɳԋαƚƚαɳ, NY
The café was quiet, tucked away in a small, upscale neighborhood where the air smelled of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries. Ivory had chosen this place carefully— a neutral ground, somewhere her mother would feel comfortable and unsuspecting. The afternoon sun filtered through the large windows, casting golden streaks over the wooden tables. Ivory sat at one near the back, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her untouched cup of tea.
Irene arrived precisely on time of course, dressed in her usual polished elegance. A tailored beige trench coat, dark slacks, and pointed Chanel heels clicking against the floor as she approached. She had aged well, still holding onto the sharp beauty that once made her so admired.
But to Ivory, she would always be the woman who had ruined her.
"Surprised you called me after going so long without talking to your own mother, getting married behind my back and having children and whatnot." Irene said smoothly as she slid into the seat across from her daughter, setting her expensive Hermès purse down on the table. "I almost didn't come. But curiosity got the better of me."
Ivory felt something snap inside of her. A slow, smoldering rage that had been festering for years finally cracked through the carefully placed mask she wore. She let out a breathy, humorless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. After all of this she was really still acting like she deserved the title of being a mother?
"Mother?" Ivory scoffed, her voice sharp like glass. "Irene, you are not my mother. A mother protects her child, loves her child. A mother doesn't groom her to sell her off like property to an abusive pedophile. A mother doesn't ignore and blame her own daughter for a man's abuse. And a mother sure as hell doesn't set her grandchildren up to be killed by the brother of that same fucking psychopath." Ivy said angrily.
Originally she was going to play it cool, but the moment Irene mentioned being a mother, something inside her snapped.
The word itself felt like a mockery coming from her, an insult that burned hot in Ivory's chest. Mother? A real mother didn't do half the things she did to Ivy. Now having Xiana, her tiny, innocent baby who depended on her for love and protection, Ivory finally fully understood just how unforgivable Irene truly was.
The thought of ever putting her daughter through what Irene had done to her made her stomach turn. Her fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails pressing into her palm to keep herself from lunging across it.
Irene's expression didn't falter though at her daughter's words, but something in her eyes flickered when she mentioned the twins.
"That is an outrageous accusation, Ivory," she said coolly, lifting the menu as if they were just we having a casual brunch. "I didn't set that man up to do a thing to your children, you always were dramatic."
