A lot.
Tessa swallowed hard, staring somewhere over my shoulder now instead of at me.
“I told my mother.”
The words landed like a punch.
Her laugh came out small and broken. “I stood there crying and begging her to believe me.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“And she looked at me like…” Her voice cracked hard enough to stop her completely for a second. “Like I was somebody she didn’t recognize anymore.”
Jesus.
“She chose the easier version,” Tessa whispered. “The version where I was guilty.”
The shop suddenly felt too small.
Too quiet.
“She stopped looking at me like I was her daughter after that.”
I couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe around the rage building inside my chest.
Not at her.
At every single person who let her stand there alone.
“I went to prison,” she said softly.
The words settled heavy between us.
“Six years.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Six years.
“And nobody came.”
Her voice went thinner then. More fragile.
“No letters. No calls. Nothing.”
My throat burned.
Tessa wiped quickly at her face like she hated that I’d seen any of this.
“There.” She stepped back, rebuilding the wall brick by brick right in front of me. “Now you know.”
I shook my head slowly.
“No.”
Confusion flickered across her face. “No?”