Page 191 of Fame & Rhythm

The car door opens.

I turn slowly, my breath catching as the woman steps out.

And immediately… something feels wrong.

She’s wearing a leopard-print halter-neck dress, her short hair messy and uneven, streaked with blonde and gray. Her skin is layered with fake tan, her face lined in a way that doesn’t match anything I imagined, and there’s a cigarette hanging from her mouth as she takes a long drag before flicking it to the ground and crushing it beneath her heel.

I swallow hard.

Then I notice her arms, tattoos covering them, ink layered over ink, and the reality hits me all at once.

This is not what I pictured.

Not even close.

“Annie, go into the living room,” Mum says quietly, stepping forward.

“Mum—”

“Now, sweetheart.” There’s something in her tone that makes me hesitate, but as the woman keeps approaching, unease settles deep in my chest, and I find myself doing exactly what Mum says. I move into the living room but sit right on the edge of the couch, close enough to hear everything.

“Who are you?” Mum asks, blocking the doorway.

“Is Annie here?” the woman replies, her gravelly voice making me cringe.

“Who. Are. You?” Mum repeats, her tone sharper now.

“I’m her biological mother, and I have a right to see her.”

“You lost that right when you abandoned her,” Mum says firmly.

“I was sick,” the woman insists. “But I’m better now, and I want to see my daughter.”

“You’re not seeing her.”

“Like hell I’m not… Annie!” she calls out suddenly.

I flinch. And before I can stop myself, I stand and walk back into the hallway.

Mum immediately turns. “Annie, go back into the living room.”

But I can’t move.

“I should talk to her,” I say quietly, even though something inside me is already pulling back. “What’s your name?” I ask.

She smiles wide, revealing blackened teeth, one missing entirely, and I have to force myself not to stare.

“Loretta Banks, honey. I’ve missed you every day since I left you.”

The words hit hard, and I feel something inside me crack.

Mum reaches down and takes my hand, holding on tight.

“How did you find me?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

“I asked questions at the adoption agency,” she says. “They gave me your parents’ first names, and there aren’t many Colters and Deliahs in England. Plus, you look just like me. You have to be my little girl. I’ve finally found you.” She steps forward, arms opening like she expects me to run to her.

Instead, I step back, pressing into Mum.