Chapter 7

Veyra’s POV

My mother called before noon. I stared at her name on my phone until the ringing stopped, then started again.

For one foolish second, I wondered whether she knew. Whether Seren had already told her about the baby, whether my mother was calling to warn me, to ask if I was safe, or to finally say something that might prove I had been wrong about her.

Then I remembered the last time I had needed her. I remembered the locked shelter. The stench of desperation.

My husband’s cold eyes and my sister’s impatient voice. Most of all, I remembered searching for my mother’s gaze while they decided what would happen to me.

She had looked away.

The phone rang again.

I answered.

“Veyra.” Marielle sounded relieved, but the relief carried a familiar edge of reproach. “At last. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’ve been busy, Mother.”

“So I gathered. You hardly call anymore, and when I try to visit, I’m told you have appointments or other commitments.” She paused. “Is something wrong?”

I moved toward the window, watching workers cross the estate grounds with crates of supplies. There was so much to do, so much that could still go wrong, and I had wasted the last few seconds wondering whether my mother had finally remembered how to be one.

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Don’t give me that answer.” Her voice sharpened. “I know when you’re keeping something from me.”

The irony nearly made me laugh.

“You’ve always known when I was keeping something from you,” I said carefully. “You simply haven’t always wanted to know why.”

Silence settled between us.

“Whatever does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“Are you unwell?”

My free hand drifted toward my stomach before I could stop it.

I lowered it immediately.

“No.”

“Then why do you sound like this? Have you been arguing with Draven again?”

There it was. Before she could ask what I wanted, what frightened me, or why I had become distant, she had already found a way to make my marriage the center of the conversation.

“We disagree about certain things,” I replied.

“Every marriage has disagreements, Veyra. You cannot keep shutting everyone out whenever things become difficult.”

I pressed my lips together.

If she knew how many times I had swallowed my fear because Draven disliked inconvenient emotions, she might have understood that shutting people out was not always an act of pride. Sometimes it was the only way to keep them from finding another vulnerable place to press.

But explaining that would require telling her about the life I had already lived.

It would require telling her that her eldest daughter had died once, that her family had watched her suffer, and that the people she loved most had decided her life was worth less than their hunger.

I could not say any of that.

So I lied.

“I’m handling things,” I told her.

“You’ve always insisted on handling everything yourself. That has never been your problem, Veyra. Your problem is that you refuse to let your family help you.”

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

My family.

The words still had the power to hurt me. Perhaps that was the cruelest part of being given another life. I could remember every betrayal, yet some foolish piece of me still reacted to familiar words as though love might be waiting behind them.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

“You should. Especially now, when everyone has enough to worry about.”

Something in her tone changed.

I knew what was coming before she said Seren’s name.

“Your sister has been under a great deal of pressure lately.”

Of course.

I closed my eyes.

“Has she?”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Seren has responsibilities too, and things have not been easy for her. She feels as though you’ve abandoned her.”

I almost dropped the phone. Abandoned her. I saw Seren standing in the shelter again, her face drawn with hunger but her eyes bright with the certainty that I was the easiest solution to a problem she did not want to face. I remembered her watching while Draven made his decision. I remembered the way she had spoken about my life as though it were something our family could divide among themselves.

And now she felt abandoned.

“What exactly does she need from me?” I asked.

“Perhaps nothing specific. Sometimes people need to know their family still cares.” My mother sighed. “You know how sensitive Seren can be. She takes things to heart.”

I dug my fingernails into my palm.

“And what about me, Mother?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

“What about you?” she asked, genuinely confused.

I stared at my reflection in the window. For a moment, I saw the woman I had been in my first life: thinner, exhausted, terrified, still hoping that if she explained her pain carefully enough, someone would finally understand.

I had spent years trying to make my suffering convenient for other people.

I had lowered my voice when I was hurt. Apologized when I was angry. Hidden my needs so Seren would not feel overshadowed and Marielle would not accuse me of creating conflict.

Even when I was dying, some part of me had still wanted my mother to choose me.

“I’m asking whether you’ve ever wondered what I need,” I said.

Her breathing changed.

“Veyra, what is that supposed to mean? Of course I care about you.”

“Then ask me how I’m doing without turning the conversation toward Seren.”

“That’s unfair.”

The familiar words struck harder than they should have.

“Is it?”

“Yes! I call because I’m worried, and somehow you make me feel as though I’ve done something terrible. I don’t understand this attitude of yours lately.”

I could almost hear her gathering her hurt around herself, preparing to wear it like armor.

I had seen this before. My mother did not need to intend cruelty to make me feel guilty for being wounded. She only needed to become upset enough that my pain disappeared beneath hers.

“I’m sorry you’re worried,” I said quietly.

It was not an apology for what she thought I had done.

It was the closest thing to peace I could offer without betraying myself.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” she asked again. “You sound strange.”

For one terrifying moment, I thought about telling her.

Not everything. Just the baby.

I imagined her face softening. I imagined her asking whether I was frightened, whether I had someone helping me, whether I needed her.

Then I imagined Seren learning the news from her.

I imagined my mother pleading with me to forgive my sister because she was young, because she was under pressure, because we were family and family had to stand together.

My hand tightened around the phone.

“I’m fine.”

“Then come home this week,” she said. “We should all sit down together. You, Draven, Seren, and me. We need to stop this distance before it becomes something we cannot repair.”

There was no invitation in her voice anymore. It was a decision she expected me to accept.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Veyra.”

“I have work to do.”

“Work?” Her disbelief was unmistakable. “You cannot spend your entire life hiding behind responsibilities. Your family needs you too.”

I looked out at the estate again. The supplies being unloaded were not an excuse to avoid her. The workers depending on me were not a convenient distraction. Every decision I made now mattered because I knew what was coming, and because I refused to let my child inherit the helplessness that had killed me.

“My family has never had difficulty finding me when it needs something,” I said.

The silence that followed was different this time.

“You’ve changed,” Marielle whispered.

My throat tightened.

If only she knew.

“Yes,” I answered.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you, but this resentment is not healthy. Whatever you think I’ve done, I will not have you tearing this family apart.”

I flinched as though she had struck me.

There it was: not a question about my pain, but a warning against the inconvenience of expressing it.

“I have to go, Mother.”

“Veyra, we are not finished…”

I ended the call.

For several seconds, I stood completely still, phone pressed against my chest. My eyes burned, and I hated myself for it. I hated that even now, after everything, a part of me still wanted to call her back and explain that I was not trying to hurt her.

I wanted to tell her I was scared. That I was carrying a child I could not afford to lose. That I remembered her turning away from me when I needed her most.

Instead, I wiped my eyes and put the phone down. I could grieve the mother I wished I had later. My child needed me alive.

I returned to work, reviewing supply requests and checking the estate’s security arrangements. I forced myself to concentrate on quantities, delivery dates, and the people responsible for each task.

But Marielle’s words followed me.

Your family needs you too.

That was how she had always framed it. Family was a duty I owed, a debt that never diminished no matter how much I sacrificed. If Seren was upset, I had to soothe her. If Draven was angry, I had to compromise. If Marielle was disappointed, I had to prove I was still a good daughter.

Nobody had ever asked what happened when I finally had nothing left to give.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

One of the estate staff stood at the doorway, holding a small tray. My phone lay beside the paperwork, its screen lighting up with a notification.

A message from Marielle.

For one foolish second, hope stirred.

Then I opened it.

It was not an apology. Not even another attempt to ask what was wrong.

It was a message to Seren.

~Your sister is behaving strangely. She’s secretive, distant, and refuses to tell me what’s happening. I’m worried she may be hiding something serious. Try speaking to her. She might tell you what she won’t tell me.

I read it twice. My mother had not needed to know the truth to put me in danger. She had only needed to be worried, to feel excluded, to believe that keeping her daughters together mattered more than respecting my boundaries.

And now Seren had another piece of information to use against me. I set the phone down carefully, though my hands had begun to shake.

In my first life, my family had taken everything from me after I trusted them with my weakness.

In this one, I was learning that they could endanger me without even knowing what they were helping to destroy.

And my mother had just given Seren a reason to look closer.