Virgin Dot Com Novel

[Jasmine's POV] Two days of silence from my mother felt like finally surfacing after drowning. Like maybe she'd decided dying alone was easier than facing the children she'd abandoned. Like maybe I could skip the complicated grief of watching someone who'd never loved me properly fade away while demanding forgiveness I couldn't give. Ten weeks pregnant. The nausea had evolved into something almost predictable. And the silence felt like permission to pretend that chapter was closed. Then my phone rang. Unknown number. "Is this Jasmine Harlow?" Professional. Female.

Clinical detachment that meant bad news. "Yes." "This is Sarah Pawson, social worker at St. Vincent's. I'm calling about your mother, Carol Harlow." Pause. "She passed away last night. Liver failure. I'm very sorry for your loss." The words landed but didn't penetrate. Just bounced off like stones skipping water. Passed away. Such gentle phrasing for a body giving up after forty-eight years of abuse. "Thank you for letting me know." I hung up and sat there. She was dead. The woman who'd given birth to me. Who'd loved me before drugs rewired her brain to love nothing except the next high.

Who'd chosen oblivion over her children until we stopped being children and became survivors. And I felt nothing. Just vast empty space where grief should live. Relief. And guilt about relief. And underneath both, something worse. Grief not for her death but for the relationship that never existed. For the mother she'd never been. I called Leo. He arrived within two hours. Drove from the farm without questions. Because despite everything, I was still his sister. We sat in the living room not touching. Just occupying space while processing information neither of us knew how to feel about.

"I didn't cry," I admitted. "Does that make me a monster?" "No." His voice was quiet. Certain. "It makes you a survivor." The silence stretched. Comfortable in a way it hadn't been since the farm. "I kept sending her money." His voice cracked. "Even after you told me to stop. Even knowing she was manipulating me. I couldn't let go of hoping we could be a normal family. That she'd get better and love us right." I found his hand. Held it. "We are a family. You, me, and this baby. That's all the normal we need." He squeezed back. "Yeah. Okay." The social worker had mentioned a grave. Small plot.

City cemetery. Next to our father who'd overdosed three years ago. No funeral. No service. No one who cared except us. "We should go," Leo said. "To the grave. Not for her. For us. To close this properly." Fear shot through me. Fear that visiting would make it real. That I'd feel things I wasn't ready to feel. But Leo was right. We needed closure. The cemetery was small. Cheap. Where people with no money ended up when dying was all they had left. Our parents' graves sat side by side. Father left. Mother right. Together in death the way they'd never been in life.

The brothers waited by the car. Giving us space. Leo spoke first. "I was angry at you. For years. For choosing drugs instead of us. For making us grow up too fast." He paused. "But I don't want to carry this anger anymore. It's heavy. And the baby doesn't deserve to grow up with my rage poisoning everything." I stared at the cheap headstones and felt something shift. These weren't my parents, not really. My parents were the men by the car. Liam who held me when I broke. Asher who protected me fiercely. Finn who made me laugh in darkness.

Leo who'd grown up beside me in hell and become a real family. These were people who'd chosen me. Who showed up. Who loved me not because biology demanded it but because they'd decided I was worth it. Biology didn't create parents. Showing up did. Choosing someone every day. That made family. "I forgive you." The words came out quiet. Certain. "Not because you deserve it. But because I deserve peace. I deserve to stop carrying your failures." Leo echoed. "I forgive you." We stood longer. Not crying. Not grieving traditionally.

Just witnessing the end of something that should have ended when they'd chosen drugs over children.