Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,51

I don’t usually go this deep. It’s work and bills and her health, but she doesn’t really dig into me like this.

I stop and sigh, and my Mom stops too. She's about a foot away from me, and even though she's wearing a hat, she lifts her hand to the brim, giving herself just a few more inches of shade. “Honey, I’m your mother. You can tell me anything."

I suddenly feel like I’m carrying a thousand-pound weight and it’s crushing me. Honestly, I'm sick of keeping the secret. Sick of being the only person who knows, of clinging to my choice and letting it define how I see myself. I've toiled over it for so long it feels like a part of me, but I feel better after talking to Owen and Livvie. Maybe I'll feel better if I tell my mom what really broke me and Owen. Maybe, if I start chipping away at the pieces of my secret, it won't be so heavy inside me anymore.

"Would you really like to know what happened between me and Owen, Mom? Even if it makes you look at me differently?"

She frowns. "Did you cheat on him?"

"No." I swallow hard, preparing myself to tell my mother my darkest secret.

"Did you fall in love with someone else while you were with him?"

"Isn't that cheating?"

"You can fall in love with someone and never touch them."

I frown. "My answer is still no."

"Did you learn his biggest secret and then blab it to the world?" It’s like she’s on Jeopardy trying to figure out an answer with rapid-fire speed.

"No, Mom. Why are you trying to guess?"

"So you don't have to say the words, because they obviously hurt." Sweat beads her brow and I wonder if I should ask her to sit on a rock or something before I drop the A-bomb.

"That's sweet." I reach for her hand, pulling her to the side of the trail. "Normally I'd tell you to sit down, but there isn't anywhere to sit. Are you ready?"

She nods but I can see the fear in her eyes.

"The summer before we left for college, Owen and I got pregnant."

My mom blinks rapidly, her mouth dropping open just enough to reveal the top of her bottom teeth.

"We decided to get an abortion. Even though it was a choice we made together, we were both devastated, and the weight of it tore us apart."

Did we decide together, or did I say I wanted one and Owen went along with it to be supportive? I always wondered that but I’m too scared to ever ask him.

I study her face. She is being careful, I think, not to react too strongly. But I wonder if inside she is experiencing what I always feared she would feel: horror, disgust, soul-crushing disappointment. This is all compounded by the fact that she’s been going to church weekly now. I wonder if she’s already condemned me to hell.

I steel myself, ready for it all, but it doesn't come. She takes me by surprise when she grabs my shoulders and pulls me in, hugging me into her thin body. "I'm sorry you went through that without me. I would've liked to have been there for you. I made mistakes, and I know why you didn't come to me … why you felt you couldn't."

"Thank you," I whisper. My worst fear has evaporated. Just like that. And now I feel stupid for holding it in for so long.

Mom keeps hugging me, and two sets of hikers pass us. She releases me, but not before she leans in and places a swift kiss on my forehead.

"Are you ready to step into the vortex?" she asks, winking.

"I think I already feel it," I answer.

"I know you're kidding, but it is possible to feel it already. It's said energy vortexes can be felt as far as a quarter-mile away." She starts walking, and I follow.

I wasn't kidding about the vortex. There is something different inside me right now. Maybe it's the spiritual energy source, infiltrating me and filling me with the buzzing feeling. Or maybe it's the fact that I no longer have to hide from my mom. When you keep a secret so big, it's like covering yourself in a sheer veil. Sure, she could see me, but there was something between us. Between me and the world. Not that I'm planning to staple a note with my confession to my forehead; the relief I feel from telling my mom might be all I need.

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