Textual Confusion

18. Your connection has been lost.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

YOUR CONNECTION HAS BEEN LOST.

“Asher, baby,” Asher’s mother exclaimed, shooting to her feet. Icy hands gripped his face. “Let me look at you.”

Asher remained frozen under his mother’s perusal, her eyes roaming over his face as she took him in. “You’re even more handsome than the last time I saw you,” she concluded at last, pulling him into a tight embrace, fingers digging into his shoulders.

The last time she’d seen him. Asher could recall it vividly, even if it had been over a year ago now.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, Trent had tracked Lorraine down and invited her to join the two of them for a meal at a fancy restaurant with his parents.

It’d been awful.

It wasn’t his mother’s unkempt appearance, or the ratty clothes she’d shown up in, or even her horrid table manners that made it unbearable. Asher didn’t care about any of that. It was the blatant track marks on her arms. The telltale dilated pupils. The way she’d consumed an entire bottle of wine before attempting to steal the restaurant’s silverware by stuffing it in her bra.

She’d been caught at the door, and Trent’s parents had been mortified, quickly paying off the restaurant’s owner to keep the incident under wraps. Whether it was a result of getting caught, Trent’s parents’ disgusted sneers, or just the drugs she was on, his mother had burst into tears on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. After a convoluted sob story about how she was behind on her electric bill, Asher had ended up giving her whatever cash he had on him at the time. Trent had handed her a cool thousand dollars.

Asher hadn’t seen her since.

At the time, Asher had thought Trent had arranged the dinner in an ill-advised, but well-meaning attempt to reunite Asher with his mother. (They’d been together long enough that Asher had opened up a little about his less than ideal childhood and the fact that he hadn’t seen his mother since he was eighteen.)

Now, of course, Asher knew better.

More likely, Trent had tracked down his mother knowing that any sort of botched reunion would drive Asher even further into his arms. After all, there was nothing quite like your drug-addled mother attempting to steal silverware in front of your boyfriend’s multimillionaire parents to remind you where you came from.

It was a brutal reality check that Trent, whatever his flaws, was the best someone like Asher, who’d originated from someone like that , could hope for.

Asher didn’t suspect anything at the time, but after their breakup, he couldn’t help but wonder if Trent had staged the entire thing, and if the thousand dollars he’d given his mother was payment for reminding Asher of just that.

He didn’t want to think that way, but honestly, he wouldn’t put it past either of them.

Before the failed dinner, the last time Asher had seen his mother in person was when he left for college. She’d called him here and there over the first few months, checking in on him in what almost always turned into thinly veiled attempts to ask for money. The calls had tapered off by the time the snow began to fly, however, and with her cell phone no longer accepting calls, he’d hitched a ride home with Danny during Christmas break to check on her.

He'd arrived home to the tiny house they’d lived in for as long as he could remember abandoned, a red foreclosure sign in the nonexistent yard.

He’d spiraled for months afterwards, cycling through a confounding mix of worry, anger, grief, and guilt over and over again. He'd almost flunked out of school, but he'd pulled through with the help of his friends, and eventually, the feelings he associated with his mother – and her abandonment – faded to a manageable level.

He didn’t forget his mom, of course, but he’d been able to move on to a reasonable degree.

All the feelings Asher thought he’d worked through had made a dramatic reappearance a year ago at that restaurant.

And he could feel them return now – a confusing, weighted tangle in his chest that made it hard to take a full breath.

Questions burned on Asher’s tongue.

How did you find me?

Where have you been?

Have you been eating?

Are you okay?

Why are you here?

Somehow he managed to swallow them all down. “Do you want to come inside?” he asked instead as he stiffly returned her hug.

She nodded against his shoulder.

Moments later, he was unlocking his door and his mother was trailing after him into his apartment.

She’d never been there before – obviously – and Asher couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of the place as she took in her surroundings.

His studio apartment was small, but homey – splashes of his personality coming through in the hot pink curtains, frivolous couch cushions, and various knick-knacks lying about. The monstrous bed Markus had gifted him looked horrendously out of place amongst his other belongings, and his mother’s eyebrows rose at the sight of it, before her eyes focused on something on his kitchen counter.

It was the picture frame he’d bought Markus for Christmas: white with a gold embossed design. It wasn’t particularly big, just large enough to hold an 8x10 photograph.

All in all, pretty enough. But it was the photograph itself that was Asher’s favorite part. It was a selfie he’d taken a few weeks ago whilst attempting to teach Markus how to make pancakes. Markus, pancake batter smeared on his cheek, looked disgruntled, the click of the camera having clearly caught him off guard. Meanwhile, Asher – with his cowlicked hair and face still puffy from sleep – was pressing a sloppy kiss to the man’s cheek while eyeing the camera mischievously.

He'd picked the picture because while they were both, objectively, a mess, he felt warm with happiness whenever he saw it.

For some reason, though, the way his mother fixated on the photo made Asher uneasy. Perhaps because she and Markus represented very different aspects of his life. Regardless, discomfort buzzed under his skin, and he fought the urge to wring his hands together. “Can I take your coat for you?” he asked in an effort to distract her.

Thankfully, it worked.

Shaking her head, his mother turned her attention his way, tightening her grip on the threadbare jacket. “No need,” she assured him. “I run cold.”

Asher couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to her arms, conveniently covered by the long sleeves of the jacket, wondering if she was hiding track marks. He ripped his gaze away. “How about a warm drink then? I have some tea I can warm up on the stove. It’s lemon.” It was left over from when he’d been sick.

“Okay,” his mother agreed, settling into one of the mismatched chairs around his rickety table.

Digging out his kettle, Asher filled it with water before setting it on the stove. “Are you hungry?” he asked, partially to fill the tense (at least from his perspective) silence that had fallen between them and partially because she was rail thin. He dug through his refrigerator in a bid to keep his hands busy. “I have some fried rice in here.”

“That sounds good.”

Asher quickly warmed up the plate of leftovers in the microwave before placing it in front of his mother along with a fork. He didn’t attempt to speak as she ate, fiddling with the kettle at the stove and trying not to watch as she all but scarfed the food down. She must have been hungry.

By the time she was finished, the tea was ready, and Asher poured them both a cup before joining her at the table. “Here you go,” he muttered, sliding a cup to her.

“Thanks,” she offered, blowing away the steam before taking a tentative sip. She hummed in approval. “It’s good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Your apartment is lovely,” his mother offered after a moment.

“Thanks.”

Asher wasn’t sure the last time he felt so awkward. He had no idea how he was supposed to act. His mom seemed intent on pretending like they were a normal mother and son, ones who saw each other semi-regularly. Ones whose relationship hadn’t been shattered by drugs.

Asher cleared his throat. “So…”

If he had any self-respect he’d demand to know what she was doing here, how she’d tracked him down, what she wanted.

“… how have you been, Mom?”

But he couldn’t do it.

She was his mom , and she hadn’t always been the way she was now. She used to be a dedicated mother before his father left, and Asher clung to the memories he retained of her from back then: playing together at the park, reading books together in bed, baking cookies in the kitchen.

“Oh, you know,” his mother waved her hand in a vague gesture. He had no idea, actually. “Same old. I’ve been getting by. You, on the other hand, well, you’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?” She winked at him.

Asher blinked. It was true. He had been busy between everything that had happened with Trent, Markus-related activities, and closing on the café. But he had no idea how she knew that, or even which one she was referring to.

“I- yeah,” he managed to spit out eventually. “It’s an exciting time. I’ve always wanted to own my own bakery. I was surprised when Mr. Brittle approached me about buying the café, but we’re signing closing papers at the end of the week and-”

“That’s nice, baby,” his mother cut him off. “I’m happy for you. Truly. I assume this new man of yours is funding this venture?”

Asher stiffened. How did she-?

But his mother remained ignorant to his shock. “Markus Kingston,” she gushed, the awe in her voice obvious. “CEO and heir of Kingston Enterprises. The richest man in all of Seattle – disregarding Jeff Bezos, of course. Whoever thought my baby could ever land someone so influential? I’m so proud.” She reached across the table and pinched his cheek.

In his dazed state, Asher let her.

“He’s handsome, too,” she said, gesturing at the photograph on his kitchen counter. “I’d gladly spread my legs for that fine specimen of a man, billionaire or not.”

That was enough to finally snap Asher out of it. “Mom!” he exclaimed, scandalized. “I- how did you…” he trailed off, struggling to organize his thoughts.

“How did I find out my baby managed to reel in a billionaire?”

“Yes, that ,” Asher forced out through gritted teeth.

“There was a picture of you two in the paper.”

Asher blinked. He had to admit, he hadn’t seen that one coming. “It was in the gossip column. The writer was speculating on the identity of the man on the arm of Seattle’s most eligible bachelor. You can imagine my surprise when my friend showed me the article only to come face-to-face with a picture of my own son. Last I knew you were dating that Travis character-”

“Trent,” Asher corrected automatically.

His picture was in the paper? He supposed he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. Between his enormous bank account and almost inhuman good looks, Markus was a well-known face amongst Seattle’s most famous socialites. Hell, he’d been on the cover of Forbes magazine – twice .

Asher recognized the suit he was wearing in the picture and realized that if he thought hard enough about it, he could vaguely recall the flash of a camera outside of Cloud Nine a week and half ago – not that he’d thought anything of it at the time.

Apparently, it’d been paparazzi.

Asher’s mother waved a dismissive hand. “Regardless, you obviously traded in for an upgrade.”

Although she was undoubtedly thinking in terms of net worth, she had no idea how right she was. “Markus is great,” Asher managed to articulate after a moment. “He treats me really well.”

“I’m sure the money doesn’t hurt either.”

Something inside Asher snapped. “Why are you here, Mom?” he demanded.

“Can’t a mother come visit her only child without any ulterior motive?”

“You never have before,” Asher muttered under his breath, a bit louder than intended judging by his mom’s sudden grimace.

To Asher's surprise, she nodded. “I admit to having made mistakes in the past,” she confessed, “but I’m not the same person anymore. I’ve been working hard to turn my life around since the last time we saw each other.”

Asher pressed his lips together. He so desperately wanted to believe her, but it was hardly the first time she’d claimed such a thing. She’d done it all the time when he was young.

Usually in the mornings when he’d find her lying in a puddle of her own vomit in their dinky bathroom. He lost count of the number of times he’d have to clean her up and put her to bed before getting himself ready for school. If she was coherent enough, she’d sometimes cry, begging for Asher’s forgiveness and promising that she’d never touch another pill or bottle of alcohol again.

Yet by the time he returned from school, she’d be ready to kick him out of the house for the night so she could entertain “guests”. They were always men, and as an adult, Asher eventually came to understand that they were probably either dealers or pimps.

His mother had to support her habit somehow, after all, and it wasn’t like she could keep down a steady job in her drug-addled condition. The only reason she’d been able to hold onto their house for as long as she had was due to child support payments from Asher’s absent father. That was obvious enough when as soon as Asher had moved out for college, she’d lost the house.

“Asher?” his mom questioned, yanking him from his not-so-fond trip down memory lane.

“Sorry,” he said, “just thinking about things. Anyway, I’m glad that you’re doing better.”

She nodded. “There’s just this one thing.”

Asher frowned. “What?”

“I won’t beat around the bush. I need to borrow some money.”

Asher hadn’t believed her – not really – but his stomach sank regardless. His disappointment must have shown on his face because she quickly elaborated. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not that . I’m just a little short on rent this month. You know how the housing market is these days.”

The housing market was pretty terrible. He bit his lip. “How short?”

“Five thousand.”

Asher’s eyebrows shot up. He had no idea where his mom could possibly be staying that it cost five thousand dollars a month to live there. His monthly rent wasn’t even a quarter of that. “That’s a lot of money for rent.”

“I’m actually a couple payments behind,” she confessed. “My landlord is threatening to evict me if I don’t come up with the money by the end of December. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent.”

What could Asher possibly say to that?

“Okay.”

“Oh, thank you!” She reached across the table and grabbed Asher by the face, pulling him close and landing a smooch on each of his cheeks. “I knew I could count on you. My perfect boy.”

“I’ll go with you to talk to your landlord and get you caught up.”

His mother’s smile slipped for a moment before she quickly plastered it back on. “Oh, baby, that’s sweet of you, really, but there’s no need. I’m already asking enough of you as it is.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, my landlord accepts cash payments, so if you have it on you, that’d be great.”

Asher frowned. “Mom, I can’t give you cash.”

She furrowed her brow, seemingly confused. “You can’t? Do you not have it on you?” She pursed her lips. “Well, I supposed if you write me out a check, I can cash it myself.”

Asher sighed. “I can’t do that either.”

His mom raised her eyebrows, forcing out what sounded like a strained laugh. “You can’t possibly tell me you don’t have the money. It’s only a measly five grand. You’re wearing a Rolex , Asher.”

Asher stiffened, fighting the urge to hide the hand that wore the timepiece beneath the table when her eyes latched onto the diamond-encrusted watch. “Markus gave it to me,” he explained, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

His mother hummed, contemplative, before lifting her gaze from the Rolex. “You know, if you really don’t have the money,” she said, still sounding skeptical, “I suppose we could always pawn the watch. It has to be worth at least ten grand.”

Her estimates were way off. Asher knew from research Sasha had conducted that the watch was worth at least five times that amount. Not that he was about to tell his mom that. Besides… “Did you not hear me? It was a gift from Markus. I can’t just sell it.”

His mother waved a dismissive hand. “Just say you lost it. It’s not like he can’t get you a new one.”

Asher felt his temper spike. He’d felt wrong-footed their entire conversation, but this was just too much. “No,” he said, voice firm as he crossed his arms over his chest, hiding the watch from view.

His mother huffed, the first true sign of her annoyance. “Asher,” she said through gritted teeth, “you’re being unreasonable. There’s no way you can’t afford to loan me a meager couple grand.”

She was already bargaining, it seemed – her request for five thousand now only “ a meager couple grand ”.

Asher shook his head. “It’s not that I can’t, Mom,” he clarified. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction. After all, he suspected that what he was about to say wasn’t going to be taken well. “It’s that I won’t .”

His mother stiffened, the knuckles of her fingers white where she gripped the edge of the table with her hands. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I already told you, sweetie,” she said, smile so strained at this point that it was more of a grimace than anything. “It’s not like that. I’ve turned my life around. I’m not into any of that- that stuff anymore.”

“Drugs, you mean?” Asher countered, annoyed that she couldn’t even bring herself to say the word aloud when she’d let them wreck so much havoc on their lives. “Oxy? Heroin?”

His mother huffed, eyes bright with annoyance. “Yes, those. ”

She was lying. He knew she was. Why else would she demand cash instead of allowing Asher to speak directly to her landlord? Asher ought to be angry about it, but instead, he could only bring himself to feel a lingering sort of sadness. He sighed. “If you really need money for rent, I’ll talk to your landlord,” he said, voice unwavering despite the fact he was staring at the table. “But I won’t be giving you any money.”

For a long moment, it was silent. The only sound was the refrigerator humming. When Asher finally gathered the courage to look up, it was to see that his mother’s smile was long gone. Her expression was closed off, and she appeared cold – downright frigid, even. “How dare you?” she hissed.

He reached across the table and took her hands into his own. They were near skeletal and like ice in his hands. “Mom, there’s some really nice rehab facilities in the city,” he said, making sure to keep his voice gentle. “If you want, we can look into them together and-”

She ripped her hands away from him, shooting up out of her seat so quickly that her chair crashed to the floor behind her. “I can’t believe you,” she said, voice lacking any of its previous warmth. “How could you treat your own mother this way? This isn’t how I raised you.”

You didn’t raise me at all.

The stinging reply was on the tip of his tongue, but somehow Asher retained his composure and held the words back. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But it was like she didn’t even hear him. “After all I’ve done for you,” she continued on. “All the sacrifices I made!”

“What sacrifices?” Asher didn’t mean to lose his temper, but it was such a baseless lie that he couldn’t take it anymore. “What sacrifices, Mom?” he repeated, voice biting, as he, too, stood from his chair. “You were hardly ever home! And when you were, you were either drunk off your ass or high as a kite – sometimes both.”

Her face turned red and blotchy. “I tried my best! And anyway, you turned out alright, didn’t you?”

“No thanks to you! Danny and his family were better to me than you ever were!”

“I did my duty as your parent,” she argued. “I gave you food and shelter, didn’t I?”

Asher scoffed. He could vividly recall the nights spent scraping the bottom whatever can or jar he could find in their pantry in a desperate bid to satisfy his cramping stomach. All because his mom had spent all her money on vodka and drugs instead of food – again .

Honestly, without the free lunches he got during the school year and Danny’s parents looking out for him, he probably would have starved.

As for shelter, Danny had found him huddled under the rug on his family’s front porch more than once over the years, trying to keep warm during cold winter nights, his mother having kicked out him out to entertain “guests” again. He would always drag Asher inside, his mother fixing them up mugs of hot chocolate and letting them sleep in the fort they’d build with couch cushions and blankets in the living room.

“Even if that was true, that’s the bare minimum , Mom. Parents are supposed to love their kids. They’re supposed to take care of them. They’re supposed to read them bedtime stories, and bake them birthday cakes, and just- just be there . But you…” Asher trailed off, swallowing hard. “It’s like you left the same day Dad did.”

The words were said barely above a whisper, but they hovered between them like Asher had shouted them. His mother stared at him, her red cheeks rapidly paling. They never spoke about his father. Asher was only a toddler when he’d left, his memories of the man reduced to a faceless man with a dark beard.

He hadn’t seen his father since, and the few times Asher had brought him up as a child, his mother would break down in tears or make snide remarks about the man being late on child support.

Eventually, Asher had learned to stop asking.

He knew he was triggering a landmine by bringing him up now, but what he said was true, and it was about time he was allowed to verbalize his feelings. Still, his stomach churned with nervous energy as he waited for his mother’s response, bracing himself for it – whatever it may be.

For a long moment, she was quiet. Then-

“I wish I had left.”

He hadn’t been prepared.

“Mom-” Asher croaked in protest.

“If I’d had any sense, I would have just dropped you off at a fire station somewhere, skipped town, and left . At least then, I wouldn’t have had to see you every day. You wonder why I turned to drugs to cope?” she asked before letting out a cruel scoff. “You would have, too, if you had to look the biggest mistake of your life in the face every day. You want to talk about your daddy? You’re the reason that he left.”

“That’s not true,” Asher denied, but his throat felt tight, and it was hard to push the words out. “You said yourself that he was cheating on you-”

“Only because you came along and ruined my body – ruined my life ! Things were perfect before you came into the picture. We were happy before I got pregnant. Then you were born, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t even stand to look at me anymore!”

“I- that’s not my fault,” Asher pointed out, trying to remain unaffected by his mother’s words, but there was a noticeable quiver in his voice. “It’s not like I asked to be born. You chose to have me.”

“And it was the worst choice I ever made,” she spat. “My biggest regret is not aborting you as soon as I found out a parasite like you was growing inside me.”

Asher was speechless. His mind was blank, his face and finger tips feeling strangely numb as his mother continued to spit vitriol at him.

“Victor would have never left me then, and I would have a normal life with normal kids. I’d be playing house in a nice suburban neighborhood, instead of fighting for my life on the streets. That’s what he’s doing, you know. Your father. He married a cute, little blonde some years back, and they have kids together now – two of them.”

Asher had no idea his dad had remarried or had more kids. He shouldn’t have cared either. The man hadn’t been in his life since he was a toddler. He couldn’t even remember what he looked like, for fuck’s sake. So why did it feel like he’d just been kicked in the gut?

“He knew as soon as he saw you that you were defective,” his mom continued nastily, “but I was your mother and I couldn’t see it. By the time I did, it was too late. I was stuck with you, a useless, little faggot for a son.”

Asher flinched. “That’s e-enough,” he stuttered, the unexpected slur finally enough to kickstart his brain.

“It’ll never be enough!” she screamed. “Don’t you get it? You ruined my life! You took everything from me. The best years of my life are gone! I don’t even blame your dad for leaving anymore! But I stayed . I stayed, and you can’t even be bothered to reimburse me for it. A couple grand is the least I deserve!”

His mother was breathing hard by the time she was finished, her eyes gleaming with anger and a hint of madness – the kind born of desperation – as they bore into Asher’s.

Against all odds, it calmed him.

After all, that’s always what it came down to when it involved his mother. Money. She didn’t mean anything she’d just said. She just wanted Asher to give her more cash to fuel her addiction… right?

Asher made sure to look her in the eyes this time when he denied her. “I’m sorry that raising me was such an inconvenience for you, but I’m not giving you any money.”

For a long moment, they continued to stare at one another. Unsure when the next time he’d see her again would be if she stormed out in a fit of rage, Asher made sure to memorize everything. There was an angry flush on the apple of her cheeks, making her freckles stick out starkly, and her curly hair had a hint of frizz in it – so much like his own. Her hazel eyes were dark with anger, and just once Asher wished he could see love for him shining in them.

He felt a jolt of panic when those eyes finally left his own – only to once again focus on the picture frame on the counter – the one that featured a photo of him and Markus. He rushed to grab it, but his mother was quicker.

“Put that down,” Asher snapped, attempting to snatch it from her, but she stepped out of his reach.

He felt sick, watching the way his mother stroked a finger down Markus’s face. “You know, most people would see a picture like this and be writhing in jealousy. I mean, here’s this rich, hot CEO with the world at his fingertips, and somehow it’s you who managed to land him.” She looked up and met Asher’s angry glare. “But not me. I see this picture, and the only thing I can bring myself to feel is sorry for the poor sucker. After all, it’s only a matter of time before you ruin his life. Just like you did mine.”

“Stop it,” Asher bit out.

His mother shrugged. “I’m just pointing out the facts.”

“You’re just jealous because, unlike you, I found someone who likes me enough to stay.”

It was a low blow, and Asher knew it, but he was at the end of his rope. He could listen to his mother belittle him all she wanted, but she wasn’t allowed to talk about Markus – ever.

He braced himself for another explosive response, another barrage of disparaging insults, but to Asher’s surprise, his mother didn’t immediately lash out.

“And that’s precisely why I feel so sorry for him.”

Asher blinked. “I- what?”

“What does he get out of your relationship exactly?” she asked.

Asher frowned, unsure why his mother was asking such a question or where she was going with it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know what you get out of it, obviously. A limitless cash flow, lavish gifts, instant access to exclusive clubs and restaurants-”

“I don’t care about any of that stuff,” Asher cut her off. And it was true. Besides, Markus brought much more to their relationship than just that. He took care of Asher when he was sick, he defended him against creeps like Trent, he ate all the confections Asher baked for him even though he hated sweets.

His mother snorted. “Sure,” she agreed, clearly skeptical. “Regardless, what I want to know is what you could possibly bring to the relationship when he can already provide for himself anything he could possibly want.”

It was a fair enough question. One Asher had often asked himself in the beginning of their relationship – when it was more an arrangement than anything else. After all, there were thousands of men and women who would gladly submit themselves sexually to Markus – no monetary allowance involved.

Asher chewed anxiously on the flesh of his inner cheek. “I- I bake him cookies,” he said finally.

She snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s not like that,” Asher protested. “I really like him.”

He was pretty sure he even loved Markus, to be honest – not that he’d yet dare say it out loud.

“And what does you ‘liking’ the man get him, exactly?” his mother pressed. “I mean, I can only imagine what his colleagues think of him dating another man, let alone one like you – homely, little thing that you are.”

Ignoring the shameful flush he could feel crawling up his neck, Asher was quick to defend Markus’s character. “He doesn’t care what his colleagues or anything else thinks of him. Or me.”

“Maybe not,” she agreed, “but if you liked him even a fraction of what you claimed, then you would care. You’d care that you were ripping his reputation to shreds, making a laughingstock out of him. But you don’t. You’re too busy thinking about yourself. After all, who cares how much your relationship hurts the man as long as you get what you want?”

“I- no. That’s not true. I care about Markus. A lot.”

His mother sneered. “You tell yourself that, but you know deep down that everything I just said is true. All you do is drag him down. It’s all you’re capable of. If you cared about him at all, you’d do him a favor and cut him loose.”

“Shut up,” Asher demanded, but his voice sounded weak to even his own ears.

“Poor man.” She stroked the photo again. “He’s just like me, caught up in the cutesy image you present to the outside world. Fooled by your innocent appearance. By the time he realizes the rot festering away inside you, it’ll be too late, and his life will have been ruined. Just. like. mine. ”

That’s it. Asher was at his breaking point. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Get out.”

His mother scoffed. “Throwing your own mother out onto the streets? And you have the audacity to claim you’re anything other than a selfish cunt?”

“You’re not my mother,” Asher denied. “You haven’t been in a long time. Now leave , or I’m calling the police.”

His mom’s eyes flashed, and Asher knew what she was about to do a mere second before she did it. But he wasn’t fast enough. “No-!”

Crash!

Asher watched as she flung the picture frame to the ground, the glass shattering upon impact.

“Oops.”

Asher dropped to his knees, ignoring the little glass shards littering the floor to pick up the cracked frame. Tears sprang into his eyes at the sight. It was stupid. The frame hadn’t cost him more than thirty dollars. But it was what the shattered frame represented that hurt so much.

Asher looked up at his mother through watery eyes. Lorraine was tiny – she had always been a small woman – but the way she stood over him was representative of the power she’d held over him for years.

But not anymore.

Anger burned hot in Asher’s chest. “I hate you,” he said, perfectly serious. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but in that moment, it certainly felt that way.

His mother was unfazed. “Ditto, sweetheart,” she snapped as she stomped past him. He winced when she stepped on one of his hands. He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not, but a piece of glass dug into his palm.

When she got to the door, she turned to plunge one last dagger into his heart. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret not drowning you at birth.”

Then she slammed the door shut, and she left.

For a long time, Asher just sat on the floor, staring at the blood welling around the shard of glass stuck in his palm, watching it drip drop onto the floor and smear the picture frame.

Markus’s Christmas gift was beyond salvaging.

And in that moment, Asher felt beyond salvaging, too.