KAISER

She's acting like I've been absent for years, returning only now when all hope is lost. In reality, my parents and I occasionally meet at their properties in San Diego or San Francisco. Just the other day, she was at my penthouse making me lunch.

"I want to see you," I say, unable to hide my frustration. My eyes scan the older women smiling at me as if I were a baby with a fragile heart.

"Okay," she replies, nodding and excusing herself before coming to me. That was easy.

I lead her to the opposite room and open the wooden door, revealing leather sofas and a fireplace as grand as those in royal palaces.

"I miss you," Mom says as soon as the door closes, pulling me into an unexpected hug.

I admit I don't visit often. After graduating high school, I moved into the penthouse, seeking solitude. Rules always surrounded me here, especially after my breakdown when my parents hired numerous housekeepers to watch over me, treating me like a child and carefully avoiding provoking any reaction.

My mom is tall, though she still stands at about my chest level, thanks to the heels she wears.

She cups my face in her hands and kisses both cheeks before I pull away. I'm not here for hugs or heart-to-heart talks. I'm here for the truth and a small backpack from my childhood. Maybe the mother-child bond could be rekindled if she tries to be honest with me.

"Where's my old stuff?" I demand.

"What old stuff?" Mom's eyes crease in confusion.

"My childhood belongings, Mom. Don't act oblivious," I exclaim, throwing my hands in frustration. She talks about my things constantly; she can't just change her demeanor now.

"Given the situation you were in, most of it was given to charity."

What the hell?

It feels like a truck has hit me, or like there's a brick in my stomach. That's how stunned I am.

"What?" I blurt out, my eyes widening and my heart pounding in my chest.

Breathing becomes difficult. This was my only chance. The bag was my only chance.

"Your father and I wanted you to start fresh. You were so attached to the past. You have no idea what the future holds," she says, her impatience evident despite the fear in her voice.

She talks about the future. What does she know about my future? I have my past in my penthouse.

"Fantastic. You gave away my belongings without my permission. Great parenting."

Perfect. I can't think clearly. Hell, I can't even see clearly.

"You gave your consent."

"How did I give my consent? Tell me, Mom, how did I give my consent?" I retort loudly.

"You said you hated them. You didn't want anything to do with them," she accuses, her eyes filled with blame.

That's true, but it doesn't justify giving away my things. They are mine alone to decide what to do with.

"That's my responsibility, my problem to deal with. They're my things, and only I can decide what to do with them." I yell, slamming my hand on the desk behind me. I feel exasperated, angry, and betrayed.

"Kay, I'm so sorry. We just wanted to help." She steps forward, trying to hold me, but I yank away.

"Help? You wanted to help? If you hadn't been so obsessed with making unnecessary amounts of money, I'd have been at home without friends who left me broken. Hell, I wouldn't be so useless right now."

"You're not useless," she responds quickly as if her words can erase how I feel.

"I am useless, powerless, and unnecessary. I shouldn't have been born."

For years, I've lived this way. I still don't understand my purpose.

"You can't say that. Giving birth to you is the best thing that ever happened to me." She sniffles and dabs at her eyes with a napkin in that fashionable way of crying.

God, she's such a great actor. "Yes, and being the wife of a businessman changed that," I retort boldly.

"I'm sorry, Kaiser. I wasn't a good mother. I wish I was. I just... I just don't know how to please you." She chokes up at the end, and my mouth drops open.

She can't blame me for her mistakes, for her and Dad's mistakes.

"Please me?" I scoff, advancing toward her with disbelief. "Don't you dare turn the tables? I wasn't the one skipping breakfast and dinners, walking out of family events, being late for every occasion, or refusing to show up at school events. So don't turn the tables, Mom." I snap, not caring if her friends hear. If they do, I'd take pleasure in watching the Queen Bee lie to her social circle and deny my words.

She steps back, shaking her head as if my words have struck her unexpectedly. Tears spill over her expensive makeup—probably worth thousands. Everything about my parents is unbelievable.

"I want to be here for you, Kaiser. Please, just let me be here for you." Her voice trembles. "Why can't you let me love you?"

I look at her, then sink onto the sofa facing her.

"You can start by telling me the truth about the Estebans, or if you think I'm not worthy of the truth, then you can continue lying to my face." I cross my legs and wait for honesty.

"The Estebans?" she asks timidly.

"I demand the truth, Mom."