TIMOFEY
That single word—sorry—smashes through the locked box where I shove thoughts about my mother. All of the guilt and anger I don't have time for explodes out of me in a torrent I don't expect. It paints a new world on top of the real one. Or rather, an old world. A world I thought I left behind.
Right now, I'm not seeing Piper Quinn, petite and red-headed and naive; I'm seeing a six-foot-tall man with a mustache and a collared shirt. I glare at her, and she shrinks back from the hatred I'm sure she can see written all over my face.
"My mother needed help. She didn't need someone to take her only reason for living away. She didn't need yet another reason to give up."
Piper shakes her head. Tears are welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Timofey. I'm so—"
If my caseworker was standing in front of me right now, I'd kill him. There wouldn't even be time for him to get an apology out.
But he's not.
It's just Piper.
