She approached slowly.
“Amelia?”
My daughter moved closer to me.
Lina stopped.
“I’m sorry you got upset.”
Amelia frowned.
“I’m not trying to replace your mom.”
“Then why do you say you’re my new mom?”
Lina blinked.
“I said bonus mom.”
“That’s still mom.”
Nobody corrected her.
Then Amelia asked the same question she’d asked me that morning.
“Are you still Mom’s sister?”Pregnancy & Maternity
Lina looked at me.
For months, she had spoken confidently about moving forward.
New chapters.
Second chances.
Love happening unexpectedly.
She had found language for everything except what she had done to me.
Now a nine-year-old had reduced the entire situation to one question.
Are you still Mom’s sister?
“Yes,” Lina whispered.
Amelia looked confused.
“Then why wasn’t she invited?”
Lina’s eyes filled.
“Because your mom didn’t want to come.”
Amelia looked at me.
I didn’t answer.
Then she looked back at Lina.
“Would you have wanted her here?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Amelia picked up her candle.
Ryan watched her.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking it home.”
“Sweetheart—”
“It’s mine.”
She walked toward the ballroom.
“I need my bag.”
I followed.
The ballroom quieted when Amelia entered.
Dozens of faces turned toward her.
My parents.
Relatives.
Friends.
