Chapter 44: The Sins of the Mother

[Brooke’s POV]

I'm sprawled on the couch, mindlessly flipping channels as the TV flickers in the dimly lit living room. Despite becoming a millionaire yesterday I still needed to take a beat and collect my thoughts. Mom's boots thump down the hallway she just got home from her shift. I assume she put in her notice, it’s not like she’s rude enough to just stop showing up.

Despite all that I still feel lonely here. The house feels emptier without Jason. His absence leaves a Jason-shaped hole in my heart.

A sharp knock at the door jolts me from my TV stupor.

"Brooke! Get the door!" Mom's voice rings out from her bedroom.

I groan dramatically. "Yeah, yeah.”

Hauling myself off the couch, I shuffle to the entryway. My hand hovers over the doorknob as I get a bad feeling. ‘Who could be dropping by unannounced the day after Christmas?’

I open the door, and my stomach drops. There, standing on our doorstep with a smug grin, is Lyra Bennece. Her blonde hair is neatly pulled back, and that damn eyepatch covers the eye that Jason….. I shake off the thought.

"Get the fuck out of here." I snarl, my hand gripping the doorknob so tight my knuckles turn white.

Lyra laughs and it feels like nails on a chalkboard. "My, my, such hostility. Is that any way to greet a guest?" Her single blue eye glints with amusement.

I clap back. "You're no guest! You're a goddamn rapist!"

"Now, now." Lyra tuts, straightening her impeccable butler uniform. "I have something rather important to discuss with your mother. Be a good girl and fetch her for me, won't you?"

My blood boils. Who does she think she is? "Like hell, I will." I growl, moving to slam the door in her face.

"Brooke? What's all this yelling about?" Mom's voice rings out from behind me.

'Shit.'

I turn to see Mom striding down the hallway, her police uniform still on, gun at her hip. Her eyes narrow as she spots Lyra.

"You." Mom spits, her hand instinctively moving to her holster. "You've got three seconds to get off my property before I gun you down like the cat you are." Her voice ice cold.

Lyra's smile doesn't falter, but I catch a flicker of something in her eye. Fear? Regret? Whatever it is, it's gone in an instant.

"Now, Ms. Parker." Lyra says, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "I assure you, what I have to say is of the utmost importance. It concerns your son."

My heart races. Jason? What could she possibly have to say about him? Hasn’t she done enough?

Lyra's lips curl into a wicked grin, her single blue eye gleaming with a mix of triumph and madness. "You see." she says, her voice sickeningly sweet, "I'm carrying your grandchild. Jason's baby." She pats her stomach, still flat beneath her pristine butler's uniform. "So killing me would also harm the innocent life growing inside me."

The words hit like a sledgehammer. My mind reels, unable to process what I'm hearing. 'Jason's... baby? Oh god, she got pregnant from raping my brother!' The pieces start falling into place, and a wave of nausea washes over me as I think about what that monster did to my brother.

Mom's face contorted with rage, her features twisting into a mask of fury I've never seen before. In a flash, she lunges forward, grabbing Lyra's arm with a vice-like grip. I hear the butler gasp in pain as Mom roughly yanks her inside, practically throwing her onto our worn living room couch.

"What did you just fucking say?" Mom roars, looming over Lyra. Her hands are shaking, and I can see the struggle in her eyes.

I slam the door shut, the sound echoing through the now-silent house. My legs feel like jelly as I stumble to the nearest chair, collapsing into it with a soft thud. The room seems to spin, and the familiar surroundings are suddenly alien and threatening.

Lyra sits on our couch like she owns the place, her posture relaxed and poised despite Mom's outburst. That infuriating smirk plays at the corners of her mouth, her single visible eye gleaming with malicious triumph. She smooths out her butler's uniform, each movement deliberate and calculated.

"Oh, I've known for a while now." Lyra purrs, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "But you know how these things are. I wanted to be absolutely certain before sharing such... delightful news." She pats her stomach again, the gesture making my skin crawl.

Mom stands frozen, her face a battlefield of conflicting emotions. I've never seen her look so lost, so utterly blindsided. Her eyes keep darting between Lyra's face and stomach, as if trying to reconcile the monster before us with the innocent life she claims to carry.

Suddenly a piece of Mom’s facade cracks. I know that look in Mom's eyes, even if it’s only a piece of something more. It's the same sparkle she gets when she talks about future grandkids, the same warmth that lights up her face when she sees a baby in the grocery store. But now that maternal instinct is warring with her fury, her protective rage for Jason.

"You can't possibly expect us to believe-" I start, but Lyra cuts me off with a wave of her hand.

"Believe what you like, dear Brooke," she says, her tone condescending. "But facts are facts. And in about seven months, you'll have undeniable proof right before your eyes." Her smirk widens, revealing teeth that suddenly look too sharp, too predatory.

Mom sinks into the armchair across from Lyra, her shoulders slumped in a way I've never seen before. She looks... defeated. The sight makes my chest ache.

"Wait!" I blurt out, my heart pounding so hard I think it might burst from my chest. "Let me adopt the baby!"

The words hang in the air, heavy and unexpected. Mom's head snaps towards me, her eyes wide with shock. Lyra's smug expression falters for a moment, genuine surprise flickering across her face.

"I... I could take care of it," I continue, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "You wouldn't have to be stuck with a baby you don't want. I promise I'd give that child the most loving upbringing possible."

As I speak, a warmth blooms in my chest, spreading through my body like wildfire. The thought of raising Jason's baby as my own fills me with an inexplicable joy, even if it would have to be a secret. I can almost see its tiny fingers wrapping around mine, the first steps taken in our living room, and bedtime stories whispered in the soft glow of a nightlight.

"I'd love that baby with every fiber of my being." I say, my voice thick with emotion. "Please, Lyra. Let me do this."

Lyra's brow furrows, her single visible eye studying me with a mix of confusion and amusement. "Oh, Brooke." she says, her voice dripping with condescension. "Your devotion to your brother is... touching. Truly. But I'm afraid you're misunderstanding the situation entirely."

She leans forward, her gaze locked on mine. "I have no intention of giving up this child. In fact, that's precisely why I'm here."

My heart sank, and the brief flicker of hope extinguished as quickly as it had ignited.

"You see." Lyra continues, her tone sickeningly sweet, "I'm here to inform you that I'll be keeping this baby."

Lyra's words hang in the air like a toxic fog, seeping into every corner of the room. I feel my chest tighten, a mix of confusion and anger swirling inside me.

"Wait." I say, my voice trembling slightly. "It’s not like Jason will be on the hook for this. The government only forces women to take responsibility in these matters. Why shouldn't we just let you go and not think about you at all, then?"

Mom winces, her face contorting with a mix of emotions I can't quite decipher. She turns to me, her eyes somber.

"Brooke." she says softly, "I can't just let a piece of my flesh and blood wander without some kind of support. It's... it's complicated."

Lyra's laugh cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and unsettling. "Oh, again you misunderstand entirely." she says, her single eye gleaming with mischief. "I'm not looking for money. No, no, nothing so mundane."

Lyra's eye dances with a wicked gleam as she leans forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If we're actually looking to trade, I'd give up the baby for Jason in a heartbeat. But I'm not stupid. I know that's not on the table."

She pauses, running her fingers along the pristine cuff of her butler's uniform. The silence in the room is thick enough to choke on. I can hear Mom's ragged breathing.

"No." Lyra continues, her voice silky smooth. "What I want is so much simpler and yet so much more complicated. I want Jason to be involved in this child's life."

The words hit like a sucker punch to the gut. I feel the air leave my lungs in a whoosh, my mind reeling at the audacity of her request.

"You want... what?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lyra's lips curl into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eye. "Oh, you heard me, Brooke. I want Jason to be the father of this child. To be present, to watch it grow, to love it as he should."

She leans back, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. "Of course, I understand the... delicacy of the situation. That's why I'm here, laying my cards on the table."

Her eye flicks towards the window, a flash of genuine fear crossing her face so quickly I almost miss it. "You see." she continues, her voice lower now, urgent, "I'm not just worried about your disapproval. There's someone else who poses a far greater threat."

I feel a chill run down my spine as Lyra's gaze locks onto mine. "Erica," she whispers, the name hanging in the air like a curse. "If Erica finds out about this baby, I think she'll kill me and the child without hesitation."

The room seems to shrink around us, the walls closing in as the weight of Lyra's words settles over us. I can see Mom's face pale, her years of police experience no doubt conjuring up vivid images of what Erica might do.

"Protection." Lyra breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's all I'm asking for. Protection for myself and this innocent life growing inside me." Her hand rests gently on her stomach, a gesture that seems almost tender, at odds with everything I know about her.

I find myself leaning forward, drawn in despite my better judgment. "And Jason?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

Lyra's eye softens, a flicker of something that might be genuine emotion crossing her face. "I want... I need help breaking the news to him." she admits, her usual bravado faltering. "After that, it's up to him. If he wants to be in the baby's life."

The room falls silent, the only sound the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. I can almost see the gears turning in Mom's head as she processes this unexpected turn of events.

"I don't think Erica would actually kill anyone." I say slowly, breaking the silence. "She's intense, sure, but murder? That seems... extreme."

Mom shifts in her seat, her brow furrowed. "I don't know, Brooke." she says, her voice heavy with concern. "I've seen a darkness in Erica's eyes ever since Jason was kidnapped. It's like something inside her... broke."

She turns to Lyra, her expression a mix of suspicion and grudging understanding. "Regardless of intent, Erica is a formidable young woman. If she were to overreact, even unintentionally..." Mom's eyes flick to Lyra's stomach. "Well, the consequences could be devastating."

Lyra nods, a tremor running through her usually composed frame. "Exactly," she whispers. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I know what I did was unforgivable. But this baby... this baby is innocent."

I watch as Mom's face softens almost imperceptibly. Despite everything, her maternal instincts are kicking in. I can see it in the way her hands twitch as if longing to reach out and comfort.

"I... I have to call Vivian." Mom says, her voice strained.

I nod. 'I think it's for the best too. Vivian has been a consistent ally since Jason started dating Erica."

*****

Vivian sighs heavily after hearing Lyra retell her story, her perfectly manicured hand massaging her temple. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I find myself fidgeting nervously with the hem of my shirt.

"Emily." Vivian says, her voice dripping with exhaustion, "I don't suppose you have a beer lying around? I could use something to take the edge off."

Mom nods, a strange softness in her eyes as she moves to the kitchen. I watch, puzzled, as she returns with a can of cheap beer, handling it with an unexpected gentleness as she passes it to Vivian. Their fingers brush for a moment. I brush it off, chalking it up to the surreal nature of this whole situation.

Vivian pops the tab with a satisfying hiss, bringing the can to her lips. In one fluid motion, she tilts her head back and chugs the beer, her throat working as she swallows. It's a jarring sight, this elegant, put-together woman downing a can of bargain-bin beer like a college freshman at her first frat party.

As Vivian finishes, she lets out a very impressive belch, crushing the empty can in her perfectly manicured hand. She tosses it onto the coffee table with a clatter, her piercing gaze fixing on Lyra.

"Well." Vivian says, her voice low and dangerous, "You've certainly fucked things up royally for us, haven't you. You filthy cunt."

The crude language sounds bizarre coming from Vivian's perfectly painted lips, but the venom behind the words is unmistakable. Lyra flinches as if she's been slapped, her single visible eye widening in shock.

Vivian's words hang in the air like a noxious cloud. Her perfect composure has cracked, revealing a rawness I've never seen before. She leans forward, her eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light of our living room.

"Why aren't we considering the obvious solution here?" Vivian asks, her voice low and intense. "An abortion would solve this whole mess. Clean. Simple. No one else needs to know."

The word 'abortion' seems to suck all the air out of the room. I watch as Mom's face contorts, a pained expression flickering across her features. She winces visibly, her hand unconsciously moving to rest on her stomach.

"Viv." Mom says, her voice low and gentle. “That's... that's my son's baby."

The words come out choked as if each one physically hurts her to say. I've never seen Mom look so vulnerable, so torn. Her usual steely resolve has melted away, leaving behind a woman grappling with an impossible situation.

Vivian's eyebrows shoot up, her perfectly shaped brows arching in surprise. "Emily." she says, her voice softening slightly, "Do you really think Jason would even want this child? After everything that's happened?"

The question hangs heavy in the air, loaded with unspoken implications. I feel my stomach churn, thinking about Jason, about the trauma he's endured. Would he even be capable of accepting this baby, given its origins?

Mom's eyes grow distant, a faraway look settling over her features. "I think..." She starts, then pauses, swallowing hard. "I think if Jason saw the baby in person, held it in his arms... he'd love it."

"Erica seems to think Jason only has an interest in kids because they'd be hers." Vivian says, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and exasperation.

Mom nods slowly, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I know." she says softly. "That's... that's why I let them date to begin with."

I feel my chest tighten as the weight of the situation sinks in. "Wait," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "With the birthrates so low, are there even doctors that will do an abortion around here?"

‘Abortions while not illegal, tend to be uncommon outside of cases in which the mother’s life is in danger. Since most babies come from Artificial Insemination unwanted babies are exceedingly uncommon.’

The question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. I watch as Vivian's perfectly groomed eyebrow arches, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Oh, Brooke." she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension, "Finding a doctor is no trouble at all. When you have the right connections and enough zeros on a check, you'd be amazed at what becomes possible."

The casual way she dismisses such a monumental hurdle makes my skin crawl. It's a stark reminder of the power Vivian wields, a power that seems to transcend even the most rigid societal norms.

Before I can process this, Lyra's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "It doesn't matter." she spits, her single eye blazing with a mix of fury and determination. "I'd rather die than abort this child."

Her words are charged with such raw emotion that even Vivian seems taken aback. Lyra's hand rests protectively over her still-flat stomach, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip.

"This baby." Lyra continues, her voice trembling, "It’s all I have left. It's my last chance at... at something good. Something pure." Her eye glistens with unshed tears, a vulnerability I never thought I'd see in her.

Vivian sighs, a sound of pure exhaustion. Her gaze shifts to Mom, and I watch as an unspoken conversation passes between them. Vivian's eyes narrow, a question forming in their depths. For a heart-stopping moment, I wonder if she's considering something truly unthinkable.

But Mom's reaction is instantaneous and unmistakable. Her entire body goes rigid, her jaw clenching so hard I can almost hear her teeth grinding. She shakes her head once, a sharp, decisive movement that brokers no argument.

"Absolutely not." Mom says, her voice low and dangerous. The words aren't just a refusal. They're a warning to not hurt her son's baby.

Vivian holds Mom's gaze for a long moment before deflating, sinking back into her chair. She sighs again, this one deep and weary, as if the weight of the world has settled on her shoulders.

She raises a hand to her face, massaging her temples. "Fine." Vivian says, her voice rough with fatigue. "We'll tell Jason and Erica tomorrow. If we sit on this and they find out later... They might never forgive us."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. I watch as Mom nods in agreement, her eyes shining with an intensity I've rarely seen. It's as if someone flipped a switch inside her, transforming her from the distant, often harsh woman I've known my whole life into this... this paragon of family values.

"You're right, Viv." Mom says, her voice thick with emotion. "Family is the most important thing. We have to be honest with them."

I barely stifle a snort. Where was this devotion to family when I was growing up? When I needed a mother, not just a drill sergeant in civilian clothes? But I bite my tongue, swallowing the bitter words that threaten to spill out. This is not the time for such bitter thoughts.