Chapter 4: The Phone Call from Mother
His mother called at 8:47 the next morning.
Julian was in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a coffee he hadn't drunk yet, watching Aria eat toast at the table.
She was still in her pajamas.
She hadn't asked about her hair yet.
He didn't know if that was better or worse.
He stepped into the hallway and answered.
"Julian." His mother's voice — Patricia Vance, seventy-one years old, retired schoolteacher, the woman who had held the family together through his father's death and Clara's divorce and every crisis in between.
"Clara called me last night.
She was in tears."
"I know she did."
"She says you've cut her off completely.
The apartment, the car, everything.
Is that true?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Julian, she has two children."
"I have one.
Clara spent a year tearing her apart."
"She said it was a haircut.
A bad decision, yes, but—"
"Mom." He kept his voice level.
"I have a video of Clara telling a nine-year-old girl that she hasn't earned anything in her life and that one day she'll find out what she's really worth.
I have another video of Clara holding scissors while Aria begged her to stop.
These are not my descriptions.
They are recordings."
Silence.
"I didn't know it was that bad," Patricia said finally.
"Neither did I.
That's the part I have to live with."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
He heard her exhale.
"She needs help, Julian.
Not just money.
She's been struggling since the divorce and I think she's—"
"I agree she needs help.
I'm not the right person to give it to her anymore.
Not after this."
"She's your sister."
"She's also someone who deliberately hurt my daughter over twelve months and filmed part of it like it was entertainment." He stopped.
Steadied himself.
"I love Clara.
I have loved her my whole life.
But love is not the same as permission.
And I am done giving her permission."
His mother didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was quieter.
"What do you need from me?"
The question surprised him.
He had prepared for an argument.
He had not prepared for that.
"Right now?
Nothing.
Just — don't tell her anything I say to you.
And if she asks you to pressure me, tell her no."
"I can do that."
"Thank you."
He went back to the kitchen.
Aria had finished her toast and was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, looking at the table.
"Daddy," she said.
"Yeah, bug."
"Is Aunt Clara going to be okay?"
Julian sat down across from her.
He looked at his daughter — her jagged, uneven hair, her careful eyes, the way she was already worrying about the person who had hurt her.
"That's not your job to figure out," he said gently.
"Okay?
That is a grown-up problem.
Your only job is to eat your toast and maybe tell me what you want to do today."
Aria thought about it.
"Can we go to the bookshop?"
"Absolutely."
She almost smiled.
It was small and uncertain, but it was there.
Elena appeared in the doorway, already dressed, phone in hand.
Her expression told him something had happened before she said a word.
"Julian.
You need to see this."
She held out her phone.
It was open to a Facebook post.
Clara's profile.
Posted forty minutes ago.
The post was long.
Julian read the first three sentences and felt the floor shift under him.
*My brother Julian cut off all financial support to me and my daughters yesterday with no warning.
He did this because his wife Elena has always resented me and finally convinced him to abandon his own family.
My girls have nowhere to go and Julian doesn't care.
Please share so people know what kind of man he really is.*
Below it, forty-seven comments.
Growing.
Aria was watching him from across the table.
He turned the phone face-down.
May you like
"Bookshop," he said.
"Give me ten minutes."
