Chapter 23 — Zara's Mother Returns

(Zara's POV)

After the call with Dominic, I decided not to stay there overanalyzing everything he'd said. It was easier to let him handle whatever was going on with Claire than to keep turning it over in my head until it became something bigger than it already was. I had classes, work, and enough to deal with without adding imaginary problems to the list.

So I moved on.

Classes in the morning. Work afterward. Evenings that somehow always ended with Dominic, either in person or on the phone. It settled into something that almost felt normal if you didn't look at it too closely.

Claire never called again.

Dominic didn't mention her.

Jane noticed it too, but said nothing about it, which meant she was saving it for later.

That morning, the two of us were in the apartment, talking about nothing important. She was complaining about one of her professors, and I was half-listening, half-thinking about an assignment I hadn't even started yet.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Jane looked at me.  

—Are you waiting for someone?

I shook my head.  

-No.

I got up anyway. I wasn't thinking about anything as I walked to the door. Not Claire. Not Dominic. Not anything that mattered.

I opened it.

And for a second I didn't understand what I was seeing.

The woman standing there seemed familiar to me in a way that didn't immediately make sense. It wasn't recognition at first. It was something quieter than that. Something that lay beneath the surface before my brain could reach it.

Then he did it.

My chest tightened before I could stop him.

She hadn't changed as much as I expected. Older, obviously. Thinner. There were lines around her mouth that hadn't been there before. But her eyes were the same.

My eyes.

She carried a small bag in one hand, as if she didn't intend to stay long. Or as if she didn't know if they would allow her to.

—Zara—he said.

My name sounded strange coming from him. Not wrong. Just unused.

I didn't answer.

For a moment neither of them moved. She looked at me as if she were waiting for something: recognition, perhaps, or permission. I wasn't sure which.

Jane's voice came from behind.  

-Who is it?

I didn't take my eyes off the woman in front of me.

—She's my mother.

The silence behind me changed immediately.

Jane didn't come near. She didn't ask any questions. I heard her moving around in the kitchen, giving us space we hadn't asked for.

I took a step back from the door without saying anything.

That was enough.

My mother entered slowly, as if careful not to take up too much space. She glanced briefly around the apartment, taking it all in, then turned back to me.

"You look..." he began, then stopped. "You look good."

I crossed my arms.  

-I'm fine.

It wasn't a response to what she had said, but it was the only one she was willing to give.

—I heard that your father kicked you out, I never imagined he could do that to his own flesh and blood.

—Well, things ended up like this.

—How are you coping? You could have looked for me and tried to contact me.

The words sound strange to me. Contact you? How?

—I'm handling it well, thanks to Jane.

She nodded as if she understood.

For a few seconds we stood there in that awkward space that people pretend doesn't exist when they haven't seen it in years.

"How are you?" he finally asked.

I let out a small breath.  

—You send me messages every year. You know how I am.

Her mouth tightened into a thin line.  

—That's not the same as seeing you.

—No —I said—. It isn't.

It seemed like he wanted to say something about that, but he didn't.

Jane appeared briefly from the kitchen, leaving a glass of water on the table without interrupting.  

"I'll be inside," he said lightly, and disappeared again.

My mother watched her leave, then looked at me again.

"You have a good friend," she said.

—I have it.

Another pause, and then he got to the point.

—I found out about Dominic.

There she was. Straight to the point. I didn't react immediately. I just looked at her.

"So?" I asked.

Her fingers tightened lightly around the handle of her bag.  

-It's true?

"That depends," I said. "What exactly did you hear?"

—That you're involved with him.

I held his gaze.  

—I'm watching it.

Saying it out loud to her felt different. Heavier somehow. She inhaled slowly, as if preparing herself.

"Zara…" She shook her head slightly, as if choosing her words carefully. "You have to finish it."

I almost laughed.

—Of course —I said—. You show up after years and that's the first thing you tell me.

—This isn't about—

"Yes, it is," I cut her off. "You have no right to come in here and start telling me what I should or shouldn't do."

"I'm not telling you what to do," he said quickly. "I'm asking you to be careful."

—That sounds like the same thing.

He took another step closer, his voice now lower.  

—You don't understand the situation you're getting yourself into.

—And you?

—Yes —he said without hesitation.

That stopped me for half a second. I didn't like that he did it.

—Then explain it to me—I said.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. That brief pause did not go unnoticed.

"See?" I said quietly. "You come here with all this urgency, telling me to finish something, and you don't even say why."

—It's not that simple.

"Actually, it is," I said. "Either you tell me, or you don't. You're choosing not to."

His expression then changed, becoming sharper beneath the calm he was trying to maintain.

"I'm choosing not to say it this way," he said. "Not here. Not when I don't even know how much you already know."

"Then assume I don't know anything," I said. "Because I don't."

He looked at me for a long moment, searching my face as if deciding how far he could go.

"It's not just about Ryan," she finally said.

—I didn't think it was just about that.

"It's about Dominic," she continued, more carefully now. "And things connected to him. Things that…" She stopped again, pressing her lips together.

I watched her closely.

—You almost said something—I said.

He looked away for a second, then back at me.  

—There are things about that family that you're not seeing clearly.

—That's not an explanation.

"I know," he said softly.

—Then give me one.

He shook his head.  

—If I say it the wrong way, you won't hear it. You'll just think I'm trying to interfere.

—You're trying to interfere.

"Yes," he said. "Because I have a reason to do it."

That hit harder than I expected. I held her gaze.  

—Then give your reason.

Her voice lowered slightly when she spoke again.  

—I left because of something that involved them.

The room suddenly felt smaller.  

"What does that mean?" I asked.

She hesitated, and this time it wasn't subtle. It was obvious. Deliberate.

"It means," she said slowly, "that I know the kind of harm that can come from being too close to that family."

I felt something moving in my chest, small but sharp.

—That still doesn't tell me anything —I said.

—He's not meant to be. Not like this.

"So why are you here?" My voice was firmer than I felt. "Why now? It's not like you care that much. You did a great job keeping yourself hidden from me all these years. Why are you suddenly interested in my life?"

"Because this is the first time you've been directly involved with them," she said. "Before, it was somewhat distant. Now it isn't."

I let that settle for a second.

"Have you heard from them all this time?" I asked.

His silence was his answer. Something about it bothered me more than it should have.

"So you knew," I said slowly. "You knew, and yet you stayed away."

His expression tightened.  

—That's not fair.

"No," I said. "What's not fair is that you show up now and act like you have the right to protect me when you weren't here to do it before."

It shuddered. That was the first real crack I saw.

"I know I don't have that right," he said. "I know. But I'm here anyway."

-Because?

—Because this is different.

"Everything is always different when it's convenient," I said.

He didn't argue about that.

Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small piece of paper. She placed it on the table between us.

"My number," he said. "If you decide you want to know more."

I didn't look at it.

"I'm not promising anything," I said.

—I'm not asking you for a promise.

Another pause settled between us, heavier this time.

She picked up her bag again. At the door, she stopped and turned to face me.

—Zara.

I looked at her.

"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said. "I know I haven't earned it. But just... don't ignore how this makes you feel."

I frowned slightly.  

—What is that supposed to mean?

"That feeling you had when I said his name," she said softly. "The one you're trying not to pay attention to."

I didn't answer.

She held my gaze for another second, then nodded to herself as if she had expected that.

"Just be careful," he said, more gently now.

Then he left.

The door closed behind her with a silent click that sounded louder than it should have. I stood there for a few seconds, without moving.

Jane slowly returned to the living room, watching me.

"Zara?" he said carefully.

I didn't answer right away. I walked over to the table instead and looked at the piece of paper I'd left. My name wasn't on it. Just a number.

Simple and direct, as if this were normal.

Jane approached.  

—What did he say?

I let out a slow breath.

—He knows about Dominic.

Jane remained still.  

-As?

-Don't know.

"That's not good," he said.

"No," I agreed. "It isn't."

I sat down, looking at the number without picking it up.

Jane placed her hand lightly on my shoulder.  

-Are you OK?

I thought about that. About Claire. About my mother.

The fact that two completely different people, with no reason to align themselves, were pointing at the same man and telling me no

He saw everything.

"I'm fine," I finally said.

It wasn't entirely true. Because beneath everything else, there was now something more.

Not exactly fear.

Something quieter.

Something didn't quite fit.

And the worst part was that I didn't know if it came from what they had said.

Or from the fact that a part of me believed them.