Page 202 of Because I Killed Him
Before answering Mom’s call, I shift into a position that hides where I am. Neither of my parents knows I nearly died, that a swarm of piranhas tore my legs apart only a week ago. I sit up in bed, turning to obscure the machines beside me, then accept the call.
Mom’s Bond screen shows her outside, beneath the six willow trees bordering the garden behind Waldsten Mansion. She’s wearing her gardening gloves, her hair swept back, kneeling at Daisy’s grave as shearranges fresh flowers in neat, careful clusters. The Pinkies aren’t allowed to do it. Every week, like clockwork, Mom removes the wilted flowers herself with steady, reverent fingers.
As a child, I thought she tended Daisy’s grave for Dad’s sake. But as I grew older, I noticed how Mom’s hands trembled and how her eyes glistened whenever she thought no one was watching. That’s when I realized it was for her. For Daisy. Mom loved her too, and like Dad, she’s never let her go.
But Mom’s love for Daisy is one of the few things I’ve ever truly understood about her. The heart behind her cold, quiet glamour is hard to see, like the wings of a bee mid-flight. Among my sisters and me, Vivian is the most like her. That’s why, even though I love her, I usually call Dad.
But this time, Mom called me.
“Hello, dear,” she says softly, brushing a stray hair from her cheek with the back of her glove. “How are you doing?”
“I’m all right.” I twist the bedsheets in my hands. “Did Dad tell you what happened?”
“Yes.” She looks down to adjust a lily in the vase. “That’s actually why I called. I thought you might want to talk about Edmund.”
“Edmund?” I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
“I saw the video, dear.”
I know which video she means: the footage from the Cloning Theory classroom. Rosamund’s false accusation. The Blues erupting with threats to kill me. Professor Hollings trying to restore order. And finally, the camera cutting to Edmund and me, and the wreckage between us.
“Yes, Mom. He is—orwas—my friend, and… I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“Friend,” she repeats. That’s all she says.
But she doesn’t need to say more. The look behind her eyes is revealing, like a door slowly swinging open. It’s as if she can see past the surface, all the way to the deepest root of my heartbreak. And it terrifies me.
I brace myself for judgment, for rules. For her to call my feelings for Edmund dangerous, forbidden, and reckless. For her to tell me I’m selfish and lost.
Instead, she keeps tending the flowers, her fingers gentle on the stems,and says quietly, “Some love is worth the pain, Loredana. The sacrifice. But other kinds… they’re born with ruin in their blood. As impossible as it sounds, it’s sometimes less painful to walk away than to follow them to the end. Because this end isn’t beautiful. It isn’t bright. Even the purest version of it won’t survive. The love between them and us can’t create; it can only consume. It takes and keeps taking until there’s nothing left but loss.” She lowers a hand to adjust a tulip that’s fallen out of place, and her voice softens. “We’re different, Loredana. Not just from the Blues. From the Oranges and the Purples, too. It’s in our design.”
I clutch the bedsheets, overwhelmed by a sudden, powerful urge to hide beneath them. It’s as if Mom is staring straight through me, deeper than Dad ever has, deeper than anyone. I feel stripped down, exposed in a way I never thought possible. And what scares me most is the note of regret in her voice, the kind of bone-deep certainty that comes from experience.
It makes me wonder: has Mom said these words to someone else before? To someone who loved a Blue? And did she watch the ruin she’s warning me about actually happen?
I fall silent. I don’t want to talk about Edmund anymore. I don’t want Mom peering deeper, reading things I haven’t even admitted to myself.
“Thanks for the advice, Mom,” I rasp. I try for a smile, but it barely cracks. “You don’t need to worry, though. Edmund and I are just friends. And… well, we’re not even that anymore.”
Her brow creases, as if she hears the sadness in my voice, but she lets it go. She adjusts the last stem in the bouquet, then shifts the conversation entirely.
“Did your father mention he’s been asked to speak at the Ovation Ceremony?”
I straighten too fast, and pain shoots down my leg. No. He didn’t.
The Ovation Ceremony is the final send-off, the last event of the year before students return home for the summer. It’s where academic awards are handed out, followed by a prestigious guest speaker who closes the afternoon with a speech.
Why Dad?
I know his approval ratings are soaring and that he’s more popular than ever, but this doesn’t make sense. Phillipa hates him. She wouldn’t haveinvited him because she supports him. She would’ve done it as a concession, a way to calm him after what Rosamund did to me.
“I’m sure he meant to tell me,” I say. “I missed all his calls.”
“We’re flying to Grandmaster the night before,” Mom says. “I’m sorry we can’t come sooner. Your father’s schedule is busier than ever. But he plans to make his campaign announcement during the speech.”
My eyes widen. “About running for Governor of the Rainbow District?”
“Yes.”
