6

STELLA POV 

My heart pounded violently in my chest as I knocked on the green metallic door in front of me.

The coldness from the metal chilled my knuckles as I bit my lips, waiting for a response. 

Footsteps rushed toward it before the door swung open and Martha’s—my mother—face appeared.

She frowned, “What are you doing here?” she opened the door wider, “Why didn't you tell me you were visiting—”

She trailed off as her eyes dropped to the luggage at my side. Her thick brow furrowed, and her bright red lips pressed together. 

“Can I come in first?” I asked, my voice croaked.

She hesitated but stepped aside anyway.

“Okay. Start talking,” she said after she shut the door behind me.

I took a sharp breath. My hands trembled, so I clasped them together to calm myself.

“Can I at least have some water before we start?” I asked. 

She nodded, “Well, after you drink the water, start talking,” she said, arms crossed as I walked toward the kitchen.

My hands shook as I poured myself a glass of water. I drank slowly, staring at the dishes in the rustic sink and the cobwebs by the withering cupboards and cabinets and peeling walls. 

I took a deep breath.

If she doesn’t let me stay, I have nowhere else to go.

I know she does not like me as much as she likes Estelle, but I am still her daughter. We lived together for years. She wouldn’t turn me away, right? I practically just got divorced and have nowhere else to go. She cannot possibly turn me away, right?

Right?

Of course not!

She is a mother. She would want my best interest at heart. I know I want the best for my child and we haven't met yet.

I touched my stomach, a chill ran down my spine as I remembered I almost lost my baby but relieved my baby was still with me.

With that small boost of confidence, I walked back into the living room and saw her plopped on the couch. I sat opposite her.

“I need to stay here for just a few months until I can save and move out on my own,” I said quickly before she could speak.

“No,” she replied immediately. “Why would you stay with me when you have a billionaire husband? Look around you. My house is falling apart! I have no money to renovate or change anything! I should be the one asking for your help!”

“Because Estelle is back,” I answered.

“Huh?” She frowned. I watched as her frown grew to delight, her eyes widened and her lips curled up in a smile. “Estelle is back? How come she didn’t come see me? I’ve missed her so much. Did she ever tell you why she ran away like that? Oh that poor—” 

I cut her off, “You know Estelle is Devon’s first love—” the image of Devon's soft gaze when he stared at Estelle popped into my head and my hands began trembling again. “They are the ones who were supposed to get married, not me. I’m just a substitute…

Remember?” it came out as a whisper.

The atmosphere returned to it's heavy state as she stared intensely at my ashen face.

I could not meet her gaze and stared at the floor instead.

Mother sighed, “I understand. It's not your fault, there are just some people who are more charming and perfect than the rest of us and that's your sister.”

She paused.

“So did you not have sex with him because of that?” her voice was suddenly hostile.

“H..huh?” I gasped as I swept up my head to look at her. 

“You were a substitute, yes, but you lived with the man for three years, couldn't you seduce the man?” She tapped the withering glass table in front of us. “He's a billionaire! Are you this foolish? Who raised you to be goodytooshoes?”

I mean I did sleep with Devon but I can't believe she's implying I steal Estelle’s man. From mother of all people? Is she on my side? 

A small smile began to form. 

“If you had gotten pregnant then at least you could've been his mistress!” 

Oh. A mistress. 

“I know you can't steal her man but you could have secured child support and you could have been his mistress and wouldn't have to be looking for where to stay. Look at you now, you're homeless!” She roared angrily as she continuously slammed her hand on the table. 

She pointed at me, "You're here asking to live with your poor mother when you're supposed to be buying me a car by now! What good has your pride or fucking moral ever done for you? You never—”

“Mother please!” I yelled, cutting her off. I got down from the couch and knelt down “I'm begging.” tears pricked at my eyeballs.

She looked away and sighed, “Fine, I'll stop nagging but I'm your mother! All I want is the best for you! If you couldn't be the main wife then you should have at least been the mistress. Three years wasted!” 

“Now you're kneeling in front of me, making me seem like I'm the bad guy when I'm just advising you.” 

Tears rolled down my cheeks as she spoke, each words twisting my heart like a knife. 

Instead, I wasted three years of my life. By now, I should have graduated and started my residency as a doctor. 

But this isn't the time for regret, I need to find a place to stay, get a job and save for my baby. 

“Mother please, look at me,” I crawled on my knees over the broken tile to her and crutched her red pencil skirt, “I won't stay for free, I'll give you half of my earnings!” I offered, I held her skirt tighter as I gently tug at it. 

Mother pinched her nose bridge and pressed her eyes shut, “I’ll allow you to stay for two months. Nothing more. You need to take care of yourself. I need my own space, and you need yours. Raising you was a hassle. I can’t do it again.”

My heart leaped. A grin spread across my face.

“Thank you!” I said quickly. “You don’t know what this means to me. I promise I’ll be out of your hair in two months. I’ll look for a job starting tomorrow.” I let out a sigh of relief, the lump I wasn't aware of suddenly cleared, “I’ll take care of all the chores so you don’t have to stress. I won’t be staying for free.”

“Alright, alright,” she muttered. “There are dishes in the kitchen. You can start there. I’m going back to my nap.” She groaned as she walked to her bedroom.

---

After washing the dishes, I decided to cook my mother's favorite meal. Parmesan and cheese. She loves it when I make it for her.

I set the dinner table neatly—plates, napkins, knives—placing everything carefully in front of both our seats.

As I walked back to the kitchen, passing the fireplace, I noticed some documents half burnt inside it.

“I told her not to burn things in the fireplace,” I muttered under my breath.

I bent down to retrieve the papers and clean the place up when I noticed my name on it.

My beloved children, Stella and Estelle, I, Cassandra, your mot…

The part afterwards was burnt. 

Who's Cassandra? 

Did someone send a letter to me?

Why is Mom burning a letter addressed to me and Estelle?

Why does she have it? 

Was it sent to her? 

Guilt clawed at me, but curiosity won.

I don't know any Cassandra so I wonder who she could be? 

I brought out the letter from the ash and dust it and read it.

My heart stopped.