Chapter 58

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William's P.O.V

When I was five years old my mother took me with her to have brunch.

She'd prettied me up like a show pony and had spent more time than usual reinforcing just how important it was that I behaved properly - that I didn't embarrass her.

At the time, I'd been confused as to why this meal was different from the others, but I'd nodded along in agreement anyway. I knew behaving well meant being quiet, speaking when spoken to and not being messy when I ate, they were things that I could do when I focused really hard so I wasn't too worried.

When we'd arrived, we hadn't gone to a set place for two but a private suite that was bustling with women dressed just like mother; with their perfectly styled hair, expensive, fitted clothing and plastered-on smiles.

I'd realised then why it was so important to act perfect.

Mother had greeted all her friends with her perfect mask that matched theirs and played along when they all fawned over me like some new doll. They praised and complimented me, asking mother lots of questions that she lied through.

She didn't know what I was learning right now, she didn't know that I only liked listening music not playing it and I had never said that I wanted to be a lawyer, I didn't even know what that was.

She lied and they believed it, loved it and I hated it all. People always fawned over me in that manner when I was younger, but I never understood why mother only showed me that she loved me when others were close.

Later in the meal, when they'd had enough of me and they began to talk about other things, I understood it completely.

All the other ladies talked with big words to describe their big children, older children, who were off doing important things, things that were good to boast about – things that made them look good.

It was clear then that there were no other children at the table because they were too old to be at the table.

They talked and talked, going in turns to talk about how amazing their children were, doing all the things they were meant to and doing it flawlessly. That's when I realised that mother hadn't said a word for quite some time, she'd been quiet, observing and nodding, smiling and humming - when appropriate - but she hadn't actually said a single word.

It was because she couldn't.

They all had older children, successful children, and mother only had me. A child she loved only in front of others and enjoyed only when she was awarded the spotlight. Other than that, I was nothing to her, nothing more than a burden.

And when mother looked down at me for a moment, purposefully giving me a view of what lay behind the mask, I understood that she hated me, she hated everything about me.

I didn't understand why then, what I'd done wrong to make it so, but with time it became clearer. During the galas and parties we'd often attend or throw ourselves, it wasn't hard to hear the things said about mother when they were said so loudly.

Whispers of her being barren for many years, allegations that she'd never had me, that I was adopted or had some other way that wasn't the right way. Piecing together the truth out of the rumours was hard but I'd gotten it eventually.

Apparently, in the years before I came about, mother had spent years trying to have children. From the moment she'd married father, she'd been trying... and failing. But it wasn't because of any desire to be a caretaker, but due to the need to properly fit the picture-perfect image of a wealthy wife in her lucrative little circle. But year after year passed and no child ever came, I don't know what she'd done to have me, but when I did come, it was too late.

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