Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

orchestrated that. So much for blood loyalty.
“Did you ever think maybe I didn’t want to come back? Or that none of
what happened between us had anything to do with you?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense to you,” she says, waving her hand
dismissively. “You don’t know what lengths people will go to when they’re
in love.”
Nausea bubbles inside my stomach, curdling like spoiled milk. It propels
me forward, my interest in hearing what she has to say dwindling completely,
as it starts to feel like she’s ramping up to a sob story, just to earn sympathy
points.
As I reach the edge of the bed, I bring my hand up, lashing through the air
with a single pump; my palm cracks against the yellowed skin of her
cheekbone, and she lets out a cry, holding her forearm up to block me.
“That’s for trying to wreck my marriage,” I say, rearing back to land
another slap on the same cheek. My hand vibrates with the impact, tingles
shooting up to my fingers, my print quickly blossoming on her skin. “That is
for ruining my childhood, and trying to ruin my adulthood.”
She tries to push me away, but I shove her hand back, curl my fingers into
a fist, and whip my knuckles at her face, not even wincing from the
immediate onslaught of pain that radiates up my arm.
“And that,” I sneer, shaking my hand out as she chokes on a tooth
dislodged by the contact, “is for Kal. You don’t hurt the people you love.
You don’t go out of your way to make them suffer.”
Walking to my old bookshelf, I put a couple of trinkets from Nonna in my
bag, grab the important files—birth certificate, social security card, and other
essential items for starting over—tucked away in a secret compartment in the
closet, and head for the door, ignoring her tears the way she ignored mine for
years, swapping comfort for criticism every chance she ever got.
“You used to call Kal Hades incarnate,” I say over my shoulder, pausing
with one foot out the door. “I get it now. You wanted him to be the villain in
your story, so you dressed him up as one. Painted him as a monster, when
really, all he ever wanted was a little bit of unconditional love.”
I pull my new phone out, unlocking the screen and pulling up the draft
email I have, waiting for me to press send. After spending the entire first few
days after the recital writing down my feelings, I began writing down other
things, too.
Everything I knew about Ricci Inc.