Page 152 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

“I said not to call me that.” I drop my fist onto the table, and he stiffens. “When you called me asking for money for Faith, it scared me. I haven’t heard from you in ages, but you had the nerve—after everything you did—to ask me to save your wife. And in case you’ve forgotten, let me tell you what I remember: Forgetting to refill my prescriptions. Telling me to stop wheezing when I couldn’t help it. Telling me to stop coughing. Telling me it was my fault—mine—when I was having asthma attacks, not that it was the shithole we lived in, with all the dust and cockroaches. Both of which contribute to asthma flare-ups, in case you didn’t know.

“The doctors told you time and again how to keep me healthy, but you couldn’t do it. You were too—I don’t know, lazy, selfish—to take care of your daughter, an innocent child you brought into this world. So when you got the chance to cut and run, you did and never looked back.”

He shifts uncomfortably. Good. He should be uncomfortable.

“Well, I never looked back, either. Oh, I still carry those memories with me, don’t get me wrong. But I hadn’t thought about you in ages, not until you called. Then everything that happened when I was a kid came back to me, full force. So yeah, Rhett was right when he said you brought on my attack. It was my fault the inhaler was empty, but it was your fault for showing up, for thinking you could abandon me and then years later drop into my life and expect me to give you money.”

I tap my fist on the table. “What makes you think I’d ever want anything to do with you?”

Glen stares at me, his jaw sagging.

My chest feels hollowed out, like I’ve spilled everything I’ve got.

Everything I said is true, and saying it doesn’t just lift a huge weight off my shoulders. It makes me feel so much better, like I’m finally free from an invisible grip that’s held me since childhood.

Glen exhales and leans back. His gaze flicks to his coffee, but he doesn’t drink it. “I see,” is all he says.

“So no, I’m not here to give you money. I’m here to tell you to leave me alone—forever. I don’t ever want to get a phone call or text from you. Forget my number. Lose it. Destroy it. I don’t care what you do. But never contact me again. You lost your claim to me the moment you gave me up, but even with all of that, I still forgive you.”

I take a deep breath and say it again, feeling the magnitude of it in my chest: “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I’m done carrying you.” It feels like a boulder’s been pinning me down for half my life, and just saying those words makes it roll away.

“Okay,” he says slowly.

“Okay.” I grab my purse and slide out of the booth. “Looks like we’re done here. Have a great rest of your life.”

Then, without looking back, I leave the restaurant and Glen with the bill. As I walk to my car, Rhett’s absence hits me again. He knew me. He really did. And no amount of fighting could make him stay.

But I just fought my bio-father and won. Maybe I can fight for Rhett, too.

Chapter 51

Cristina

The next couple of days, I feel better. Not amazing, but better. Glen hasn’t contacted me since we met up, and I don’t expect him to.

You should forgive others, not because they need to be forgiven, but because it frees you. The only thing hatred and anger do is rot a person from the inside out, and I don’t want to rot.

I want to bloom.

It’s a Saturday, and I have nothing better to do with my day than lay in bed.

Just kidding. I’ve actually been working on something.

The bell on my toaster oven dings. I open the door and slowly pull out my newest creation.

This Bitty Being has long hair that drapes over one of her shoulders. Her palms are centered over her heart. She has a purse slung over one shoulder, and sticking out of it isn’t an inhaler, but another Bitty Being, the one of herself she made and tucked away, carrying with her everywhere she goes.

I trace my finger over the smooth surface—down her nose, over her shirt and blue jeans, down to her feet, where she’s slipped on a pair of low heels.

This is me, the new Bitty Being that represents me, and I’m thrilled with how she turned out. No, she’s not like the first one, the one that broke. She’s better, healed, mending herself day by day and finding the strength to keep going even if her heart is cracked.

My phone rings, and it’s Rowe calling. “Good morning. To what do I owe the pleasure of a call?”

I can practically hear the grin in her voice when she says, “Want to help me clean out the attic?”

“Do I get to keep any treasure I find? Jewels? Spanish doubloons? A map with an X?”

She laughs. “It’s all yours. If you hurry, you’ll even get a hot breakfast.”