My stomach immediately knotted.
“Not this again.”
“Promise me you’ll feed him.”
“Why?” I whispered. “Why him? Why always him?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I never put him before you.”
“It felt like you did.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“And I’m sorry.”
“Then tell me why.”
She looked toward the doorway.
“If Mark comes around after I’m gone, don’t let him touch the blue box.”
I blinked.
“Uncle Mark?”
“Promise me.”
“What does Mark have to do with Victor?”
Her grip tightened.
“He’ll erase him completely.”
“Erase who?”
“Just promise me, Fiona.”
I wanted answers. I wanted all of them.
But she looked terrified, and no matter how old I was, I was still her daughter.
“I promise,” I said.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“He was my safe place,” she whispered.
A few days later, she was gone.
After the funeral, people filled Mom’s small house with sandwiches and quiet sympathy. She had purchased the place years earlier after saving every dollar she could.
Uncle Mark stood near the hallway already sorting through boxes.
I walked toward him.
“What are you doing?”
He gave me the calm smile he always used when he wanted me to doubt myself.
“Helping.”
