Chapter 219

Julie’s POV

His question was abrupt, catching me off guard as he watched my hesitation from behind the steering wheel. "Aren’t you going to get out?"

"Oh, yes... I’m going," I stammered, trying to summon my courage. I stepped out of the car, the old house looming before me like a stranger.

"Thank you, Mr. James... goodbye," I said with a flustered sense of gratitude.

In my mind, I was already planning to wait for him to drive away so I could hail a taxi and head straight back to the club. But his voice stopped me: "The bags... did you forget them?"

My God. He got out of the car and began unloading the numerous bags, piling them onto the sidewalk. "Thank you... you can go now," I said in a desperate attempt to dismiss him.

"I’ll watch from here until you’re inside," he replied with a flat, stoic calm.

He returned to his seat, while I took faltering steps toward the door and stood there, frozen.

How am I supposed to knock? What do I say? I glanced back to find the car still idling in its spot. I couldn’t see him through the heavy black tint of the windows, but I was certain he was watching my every move.

I turned back to the door and raised my hand it felt heavy, as if made of lead and knocked. In that moment, I prayed with all my heart that no one would answer, that they had moved away. But suddenly, the door swung open... and I saw my mother.

It was her. With the same cascading brown hair, the green eyes that matched my own, and the familiar pink dress she always wore. Meredith stood there paralyzed, staring at me with a shock that seemed to strip her of speech.

And though she had never been tender, though she always tried to push me away, and despite her shameful silence when my father sold me the moment I saw her, I wanted to hold her.

I had thought over the past few days that I could hate her, that I could ignore her, but before I realized it, my arms were wrapped tightly around her as if all the nightmares I’d lived weren’t real.

Her scent was the same; it hadn’t changed. I hugged her with every ounce of strength I possessed, but her body remained utterly rigid in my arms. She didn’t speak; she didn’t even raise her hands to pat my back.

She remained a cold statue while I clung to her, burying my face in her shoulder. "Mom... I missed you," I choked out.

I finally let go, stepping back to look at her frozen features. My anxiety spiked. "Mom... are you okay? What’s wrong?"

Was she simply shocked to see me so suddenly? The eerie silence was broken only by my father’s voice from inside: "Meredith, what is it? Who’s at the door?" The moment he saw me, he froze as if he’d seen a ghost. His eyes widened in genuine disbelief. "Julie!" he whispered.

He rushed toward me, and before I could process what was happening, he pulled me into a crushing embrace, as if he might break my ribs. I couldn’t believe my eyes; was my father actually hugging me? "Julie... you’re finally home," he said, his voice trembling.

I wasn’t the only one shocked; I saw the disbelief etched on my mother’s face as she watched his unexpected reaction. He stepped back slightly, cupping my face with frantic hands. "I can’t believe it... did Robert Cross actually let you go?"

"In a way," I replied briefly.

He gripped my shoulder. "Come in, come in."

"There are bags outside," I said, pointing to the sidewalk. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Mr. James’s car as it pulled away, disappearing silently into the darkness. My father rushed to the bags, hauling them inside. "Get inside, Julie, what are you waiting for?"

My mother was still standing there, the shock not leaving her face, as if she were in another world.

I approached her, taking her cold hand. "Mom... are you okay?" The second I touched her, she wrenched her hand away as if she’d been electrocuted and walked inside without a word.

I followed with heavy steps, my eyes wandering through the house. Every corner unearthed memories.none of them beautiful, but they were the only threads connecting me to this place.

I entered the living room to find my mother sitting on the sofa in her usual dead silence, not looking at me, not even acknowledging my existence. I sat on the opposite sofa, my body still refusing to believe I was actually here.

My father sat beside me. "Are you going to stay, Julie?" he asked tentatively. I looked at him, stunned.

In that suffocating moment, my mother stood up abruptly and headed for the kitchen. I knew that move all too well; she was going to grab a bottle of alcohol and lock herself in her room. Minutes later, the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the house.

My father stood up, and as if we were repeating a scene from our wretched past, he went to her door, banging on the wood and pleading for her to open up. I stood there, lost, not knowing how to act in the middle of this familiar family collapse.

I left the living room and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

I pushed the door open cautiously. It was exactly as I had left it; they hadn’t emptied it, hadn’t changed the decor. I walked over to my small desk, touching my pens and notebooks with my fingertips, then threw my exhausted body onto my bed.

It was hard, nothing like the plush beds at the club, but it made me feel one thing: it was my bed. Mine alone.

My emotions were a chaotic mess, to the point where a mad thought began to take root: What if I stayed? What if I never went back to that club again?