Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I pulled in a ragged breath.
“I couldn’t tell you what that meeting was about today, but I can tell you every word Miriam said on that call. And we were wrong. She couldn’t take care of herself. She shouldn’t have had to, because that was our job. My parents. Mine. We took her in when she was five years old. We raised her. She was our family. It was my job to call her, check on her. It was my job to ask her how she was doing, and if she didn’t want to talk to me, it was my job to help her open up. But I failed her as a brother. I was the golden child growing up. I got the attention. Miriam came along, and she was timid, so timid, and she was pushed to the background. My mom was stressed, so Miriam didn’t want to upset her by asking for things. My dad was gone, and Miriam didn’t want to be selfish and ask him to stay. She put us first. She put our family first, and we never reciprocated.” He raised his head and blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I have agonized ever since, because that’s all I have right now. The aftermath. What did I miss? Was she asking for help and I wasn’t listening?” He shook his head, face haunted. “She was a good kid, but she didn’t have a lot of friends. I thought she’d grow into her own. I never considered—” He broke off. “Her last call was to me. And her last text said, I’m sorry. Don’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done. We lived in a high rise. We were on the top floor.”
Pressure squeezed my chest.
“She jumped.”
I closed my eyes.
After a moment, he continued, quietly, “I have a sister, and I visit her grave every goddamn week because I will never forget her again.”
“Mal,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“I first heard about you from Justin Gathaway. He’s not why I hired you. Obviously, when we looked into you, the results spoke for themselves. You were good. You are good. Justin sang your praises, so I wanted to meet you. I didn’t go to that dinner intending to hire you. I wanted to meet you first, but I believe in my gut instincts. My gut said I couldn’t let you slip through cracks. I never once regretted making you that offer. You told me ahead of time about your personal connection with Tyler Griffin. I’ve been around the business before. You are a beautiful woman. I’m aware that Tyler has a lot of female fans, and they are die-hard fans. So I wasn’t altogether shocked to find out about your relationship with him.”
“What?” My mouth opened.
“As if Tyler Griffin isn’t going to take one look at you and not snap you up. Please. Griffin did what I expected him to do, and he did it because he’s new to the team and he didn’t yet have the respect for us that might’ve held him back. He has it now, but I can see you’re both too far gone.”
“You knew about us before it came out?”
“No.”
The female server tried again. This time, Mal gave her a scathing look.
She wilted away.
He returned his focus to me. “Miriam kept video diaries, and I had a psychologist analyze them. She didn’t leave a note, other than her text, so we didn’t know why she jumped. I wanted to know.” He paused, gathering himself, and reached for my water. After taking a sip, he set it back down but held on to it. “The psychologist explained that in dysfunctional families, everyone takes different roles—the scapegoat, the golden child, the hero. Then she told me about the lost child or the invisible child.” He needed to take another moment. “She believes, based on Miriam’s diary, that’s the role she took on, or it was placed on her. She told me Miriam might’ve isolated herself. Which she did. That she suppressed her own emotions, kept them hidden. That she probably wanted to avoid conflict, so she tried to stay under the radar. She shut down. That she probably internalized feelings of being invisible. That she was neglected.” His voice broke. “She didn’t believe she was worthy of being loved. She wanted to minimize her presence. That was her way of not adding to the family problems or the stress the rest of us felt.” He drank the rest of my water and rattled the ice. “She felt flawed. That’s what the psychologist said. She felt fatally flawed. I’ve read more on the lost child. And according to what I’ve read, my cousin’s needs weren’t met. Her needs and her voice were discounted. I don’t—I swear to God, I don’t remember doing that, but does it matter anymore? The research said she probably questioned her right to even exist. That it wouldn’t be obvious, but she didn’t share what was going on with her life because she didn’t think she mattered. To me. That she didn’t matter to me.