The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

it the baby? Is she okay?” Worry jacked her voice higher, and Sydney quickly shook her head.

“No, no, the baby’s fine, Mom. I promise.” Relief erased the concern from Patricia’s expression, and with a nod, her mother closed the front door. “Me, on the other hand,” Sydney added with a soft but bitter chuckle.

“What’s going on?” Her father appeared in the foyer, still wearing his suit jacket and tie. “Sydney, the baby—”

“Is fine,” she finished. “Dad, you’re home from the clinic early.”

And yes, she was stalling as she questioned if she’d made a mistake in coming here.

“Not really. Ever since Kelly joined the practice, I try to be home by five. But my work schedule isn’t why you’re here. What’s going on, sweetheart?”

That did it. He hadn’t called her by any endearment in years. That he did now, when she stood there, barely hanging on, so fragile she feared if she stopped moving, she might never get up again... Well, she couldn’t handle it.

Tears stung her eyes, then rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t try and hide them.

She was so damn tired of hiding.

“Sydney,” her mother cried out, alarmed. And when her mother’s arms wrapped around her, the tears flowed harder. “Oh sweetie.”

How long she sobbed in her mother’s embrace, she didn’t know. But by the time the crying jag ebbed, and her father wordlessly pressed a handkerchief into her hand, she was seated on the couch and could breathe easier. She didn’t remember her mother leading her into the living room or sitting her down, but as the exhaustion weighed down her limbs, she was thankful for it.

“I left Cole.” She dropped the abrupt statement like a nuclear bomb and silently waited for the explosion. Because she fully expected one. Sighing, she rubbed her forehead, trying to relieve the headache that her crying hadn’t helped. “I know you’re disappointed in me. So, I might as well get it all out there.”

And she confessed everything.

Daniel’s threat to sue for custody. Cole’s proposition and the purpose behind their marriage. Falling in love with her husband. Discovering the house. And finally, her telling him it was over.

A thick silence smothered the room, and shoulders tense, Sydney again waited for her parents to speak, to castigate her for being too impulsive, for being reckless and selfish. But as the seconds ticked by, they remained quiet. Torture. Pure torture. Why didn’t they just get it over with? Forget it. She had to end it.

“Look, I know—”

“Why would we be disappointed in you?” her father asked, gruffly but gently.

Several answers whirled in her head, but nothing emerged.

“I’m hurting for you. I’m also saddened that you didn’t feel you could confide in us about Daniel. And as a father, I’m angry with myself that I wasn’t there for you, that I couldn’t protect you. But do I blame you? No, I don’t. I’m proud of you for making the hard decisions. Then and now.”

Sydney whipped her gaze from her father, to her mother, then back to him. Surely, she hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have...

“When did this happen?” she asked, too stunned by their lack of reaction to be tactful. “Just a few weeks ago, we sat in that dining room and you both accused me of being rash and impulsive. Why the turnaround?”

“Sydney.” Her mother lifted her hand, and it hovered several seconds before Patricia settled it over Sydney’s clenched fingers. “We’ve made mistakes. Plenty of them when it’s come to you. Ever since you visited me at the store and we argued, your father and I have been doing a lot of soul-searching. We’ve had to look back with a critical eye turned not toward you, but ourselves. And we’re not proud of what we’ve seen.” She inhaled a shaky breath, briefly closing her eyes. When she reopened them, Sydney almost gasped at the bright sheen of tears in her mother’s gaze.

She hadn’t seen her mother cry in years—not since Carlin’s death and the months afterward. Her heart, which she didn’t believe could break more than it already had after leaving Cole, cracked. No matter the distant relationship they’d been locked in, she couldn’t bear the sight of her mother’s tears.

“Mom,” she breathed, flipping their hands over so she now clasped her mother’s.

“No, this needs to be said,” Patricia said, squaring her shoulders. She glanced at Sydney’s father, who nodded, as if offering his support, his encouragement. For what, though? “Your father and I actually planned to come see you this weekend,” her mother continued, her voice slightly trembling. “To apologize. To ask for your forgiveness. Not just for our reaction when you returned home. Which was horrible. Over the years, we’ve been so focused on our concern for you, our hope that you’d find stability and security, find happiness, that we forgot to show you compassion. We forgot to say, I love you and show it to you. Our motivation was love, but the delivery of it has been lacking at the least, abysmal at best. What you said to me that afternoon in the boutique—that we gave Daniel our unconditional support but not our own child—it cut. As the truth always does. You returned home to us for a reason. Because you were looking for a safe place to land, because you needed us. And instead you received criticism and the brunt of our fears. We failed you, and we’re sorry. I’m so sorry, Sydney.”

A maelstrom of emotion—shock, grief, anger and guilt—crashed inside her, battering her. Surging to her feet, she strode away from the couch, from her parents, thrusting her hands through her curls. She couldn’t think. Too much bombarded her. Eighteen years’ worth of pent-up feelings. Confusion. Her parents’ sudden regret and sorrow. The pain that still tore through her from Cole. And that bitch called Hope. She’d betrayed Sydney too many times, and it was hope that tipped the scale.

“I’m sorry,” Sydney whispered. Then louder, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice, “I’m so sorry. You think