Rhys refuses to see Mum and barricades himself in his room any time she visits. Even when Dad begs him to go downstairs and talk to her, he won’t.

I try and do the same, but I miss her, and give in much quicker than my brother.

Today is the first time we’ve spent together since that initial doomed visit to her house. This time, we stay on neutral ground and she takes me for a trip to the local shops for a few hours. We walk from store to store, looking at everything yet seeing nothing, and not talking.

I imagine all the people are staring at us thinking, “Why are they together? They don't talk to each other. Do they even know each other?”

But it makes no difference. I don't try to engage. I have nothing to say.

Mum extends an olive branch with offers of gifts and trying to buy me things, but I refuse. There is nothing in any of these stores that my heart wants. It wants something it cannot and will never have.

When we stop for lunch in a burger place, I only pick at my fries, and after long minutes of silence between us, she sighs heavily, then rests her hand on my forearm and squeezes. "I'm sorry you’re hurting, Fflur."

I'm always Fflur to her now. Flower is gone.

"I'm sorry things are hard for Rhys, too. I never meant for things to get this bad."

"Do you love him? Do you love him more than us? Did you ever love us or Dad?"

These aren't questions I should ask her in the middle of a packed burger place where anyone and everyone can listen to us and our dirtier than dirty laundry.

"It’s not that straightforward, Fflur," she sighs, her eyes filling with emotion.

"Yes, it is.” Those weren’t hard questions.

"Things were always... difficult, with me and your father. We split up more than we were ever together when we were younger. Things were… turbulent. I thought I loved your dad, and he's an amazing man, but things don't always work out, Fflur. Before we had Rhys, we split up, and I thought that was the end."

"So why did you get back together?"

"Because I was pregnant. I cared about your dad, and I wanted our baby to have a home and a family. He felt the same.”

"So you only got married because you were pregnant?"

Mum shakes her head. "It was more than that. We thought we could make it work. We both wanted to be the best we could for the baby. It was fine for a bit. Your dad and me adored Rhys, he was the centre of our world, and we both cared for each other. Then Rhys was about eight or nine months old, and I got pregnant again.”

I can’t help myself, and an unbelieving snort escapes my lips before I sneer, "Great family-planning, Mum. You know they tell us all about contraception in school. Did you never go to those classes?"

My words taper off and lose steam because if they had used protection, I wouldn’t be here now.

"We did use protection."

"Great,” I exclaim, pushing my carton of fries away and almost spilling my milkshake. “I was yet another mistake."

"You were never a mistake, Fflur. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was overjoyed. I knew Rhys would have someone to grow up with, and we’d have another child to love."

"But, in the end, we weren’t enough for you, were we?"

"It’s not about you or Rhys. Things were never going to work with your father. They couldn’t." She exhales heavily and shakes her head. "We conned ourselves into thinking it could for far too long."

"Right," I say in frustration. “It’s not about me and Rhys. Has nothing to do with us, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to see you. We aren’t important in all of this.”

I dump my food on the tray, push out from under the table, and storm away. She follows hot on my heels, and anger pools deep and dark in my belly. I can't stop myself, and before we've even left the restaurant, I spin around and all but yell, "But they are important. Important enough to cheat. Important enough to break up our family and rip us to shreds. And now it's exploded in your face. I hope it burns, Mum. I hope you hurt as much as we do."

People stop and stare at the scene I’m causing, but Mum ignores all the dirty looks and the glares, and keeps her eyes on me. She deserves this, I think as I storm away, not caring about the mess I leave in my wake.

Mum runs after me. "Flower, wait. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t cheat."

She’s a liar.

"He calls you Mum,” I all but scream. My arms flailing at my sides, my face so red I think I may burst into flames. “And don’t ever call me Flower again. I am not Flower to you. Not now, not after what you’ve done.”