Page 61 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
Kayla bristled. “Connor deserves better than—”
“Connor deserved a mother who doesn’t treat him like a pawn in whatever twisted fantasy she’s built in her head, but that ship has sailed!” Fern shot back.
Kayla’s face flushed. “Watch yourself.”
“No, you watch yourself, lady,” Fern said, stepping closer, her voice dropping cold and lethal. “You so much as go near my daughter again—no, you know what—anywhere near my family and that means Connor as well—and I will make your life a living hell.”
Kayla’s eyes widened, shocked by the venom in her tone.
“For once,” Fern continued, her voice now shaking now with unconcealed fury and grief and something far more dangerous, “act like a mother, not a selfish bitch. Do what’s best for Connor—not what feeds your obsession for your ex-lover.”
Kayla let out a derisive laugh. “Connor has always been a little slow. No wonder he settled for someone like you.”
All of a sudden, Fern was tired. It was useless wasting her breath on someone like her.
“Listen to yourself,” Fern said quietly. “You’re putting your own son down… for a woman who doesn’t care about anyone but herself. Stop talking.”
Kayla opened her mouth—then closed it.
For the first time, she had no cutting retort ready .
Fern held her gaze for a long, burning moment, threat delivered.
Then she stepped back, turning toward her car.
“And keep your fantasies to yourself,” she added over her shoulder. “Connor is never going to be with Matilda.”
Somehow, she knew it in her bones.
The car door slammed shut.
And this time, when Fern drove away, she didn’t look back.
***
The silence Connor wrapped himself in seemed to taken a life of its own. He came home from work every day at five on the dot. He walked straight in, washed his hands, and reached for Coral, as if she were the only thing keeping him going. He spent the rest of the day playing with her, slowly reading with her, playing pirates and sea dragons in the bath, or eating dinner with her. He cooked and cleaned, all the while breaking his heart as the home they built together slowly emptied.
He treasured every time Fern met his eyes or brushed past him. An accidental brush of fingers at her elbow. A ghost of contact when he passed behind her. Her hoodie that she found suspiciously tucked beneath his pillow in Coral's bed where he was sleeping now.
He didn't speak much now, but his eyes said plenty—intense dull gold, drinking her in before she looked away.
She ignored it. He was furniture. A large, guilty, handsome piece of furniture.
The estate agent had come for viewings and promised a quick sale. Coral trotted alongside her boxes, chattering in delighted bursts:
"Gramps' house!"
"Fishy pond!"
Her speech had blossomed in the space of two weeks, as though deciding she was ready. Connor was her captive audience, only realizing how many of her milestones he had missed.
***
When Kayla knocked three days before the move, Fern opened the door with the resigned patience of a woman girding her loins.
Kayla tried to sweep in like she owned the place, but Fern had her arm firmly barring her path.
“We talked about this, Kayla,” she said, with a long-suffering sigh.
