The first time I heard the term I was twelve years old.

The Greater Good.

The definition seemed strange to me.

How could sacrificing what you want in favor of what someone else wanted be a good thing? It’s possible it was the first time I realized something was wrong with me.

I was a spoiled, pampered, only child. The male offspring of two powerhouse dynasties who could make grown men cower before me from the moment I realized what true power was. Sacrifice wasn’t in my vocabulary. Neither were words like reasonable or considerate.

One particular word that was totally alien to me was sharing.

I didn’t share. Period. The fact that I had to share my mother with my father was a huge problem for me from the day I was born. Learning to swallow that bitter pill on a daily basis was enough of a sacrifice in my opinion.

So imagine my surprise when I realized this sharing nonsense was truly a thing. That people actually participated in it. Of their own free will.

But even then, I was jarringly aware that what he was asking of her that night didn’t seem right.

Mothers and fathers were supposed to love each other. Only each other. Right?

So seeing him lead her down the hallway to the guest suite was disturbing enough. Odder still was the super skimpy nightie she wore. Mama’s nighties were always long and flowing, with a robe over it with a train that made her look like a queen.

Not tonight, though. Tonight she looked like one of those girls in the cheap magazines Wesley, my driver, hides beneath the car seat when he sees me coming. The idiot doesn’t know I have my own, superior, collection thanks to Armand, our gardener.

But I digress.

Mama. Looking un-queen like. In the part of the house that’s far away from the bedroom suite she shares with my father.

I should be in bed. But I’m rarely able to sleep when we have guests. For one thing, everyone wants a piece of Mama, and sometimes my annoyance at having to work for her attention keeps me up at night. She’s mine and mine alone.

Her sole attention is what makes my world turn.

Call it what you will…some fucked up Oedipal Complex? Yeah, I know what it means. I looked it up after I heard some asshole joke about it in reference to me and Mama when we were at the country club the other day. Maybe that’s what I have. There’s nothing remotely sexual about the connection I have with my mother, but who cares what other people think? All I know is that I’m never happier than when she’s smiling at me. Hugging me. Laughing at the jokes I meticulously scour books, TV shows and magazines to find and tell her. Watching her face blossom with happiness when she sees me is like seeing the sun come out after a horrible thunderstorm.

I hate those. Thunderstorms. I also hate it when she’s not smiling.

Tonight, she’s not smiling. She crying.

The sound triggers a series of memories. I frown when I realize I’ve heard it before. The sound of her crying. I never thought much about it because I always assumed it was Mrs. Harper, our overly emotional housekeeper who cries at the drop of a hat, especially when she’s with Mama. The few times I heard the crying, it would turn out to be Mrs. Harper, not Mama. Mama would always smile a happy smile when she saw me.

But tonight her cheeks are wet. Her shoulders are hunched over as Maxwell, my father, leads her down the hallway to the double doors of the guest suite.

Captain Harrington’s suite.

My concern for her makes me leave my hiding place behind the huge grandfather clock in the guest wing. I creep closer along the wall, making sure to stay in the shadows. My heart bangs against my ribs in fear and confusion as Mama holds her fist against her mouth.

“You agreed, Adele. You don’t want to let me down, do you?”

Mama shakes her head.

Maxwell nods in satisfaction and kisses her gently on the forehead. His gentleness with her makes my anger with him abate a touch. But my heart is still racing, my brain utterly perplexed at what is happening.

“Remember the end goal. Remember this is for the greater good.”

A sob catches in her throat. I’m ready to lunge out of my hiding place when Maxwell turns the door handle and pushes it open. Mama stumbles forward, her high heels catching on the carpet. She turns and looks at Maxwell. Her face looks…pleading, her eyes great pools of distress. His jaw tenses and he jerks his chin at her.

“The greater good, Adele.”

Why is he saying that? From my hiding place I can tell what’s going on is the opposite of good. Mama is crying. That’s bad.

I have to save her.

I step out. Then immediately shrink back when I see the two men coming silently down the hall. They’re Captain Harrington’s assistants; they arrived with the Captain and are staying for the weekend at our plantation mansion in South Carolina. They both give me the creeps, the big, muscly one especially.

Maxwell sees them and steps back from the doorway. They’re both dressed in their pajamas and one of them is holding something in his hand. Like the video camera Mama got me for my last birthday. They enter and shut the door without speaking to him.

I plaster myself against the wall as Maxwell walks past me and returns to his bedroom. My gaze swings back to the guest suite door.

Mama is in there, doing something. Something she doesn’t want to do. Something that makes her cry.

And she’s doing it for the greater good.

I stay in my hiding place for hours and hours, the three words playing in my head. Eventually, my eyelids begin to droop. I want to go knock on the door, see if Mama’s all right. But my feet won’t obey me. They want to run in the other direction, back to my room. I don’t let them. Because I don’t want to leave Mama in that room.

Mrs. Harper finds me in my hiding place at sunrise. She hassles me back to bed. I want to ask all the questions bursting through my mind.

But the old biddy is crying again, sniffing into that damn white handkerchief she always has tucked in her pocket.

She promises me pancakes for breakfast, as if she’s offering me some rare, magnificent treat. It’s stupid, because I’m Quinn Blackwood. If I want pancakes, I’ll have pancakes. She has zero power over the delivery or withholding of pancakes. What I want her to do is to return to that room and get Mama. I’d do it myself but I can barely keep my eyes open. But Mama can’t stay in that room no matter what she agreed.

Because from where I’m standing, it’s very clear that the greater good sucks.