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She tasted blood at the same moment she heard the woman laugh.
A woman, for fuck’s sake.
“Oh, there now, don’t pretend to be asleep. It’s too late now. I already saw you.”
Margo didn’t respond. Didn’t open her eyes. Barely breathed.
“My boys used to do the same thing when they were little. I’d turn on the bedroom light to make sure they were awake for school, and they’d always fake deep sleep. It didn’t work then either.” Footsteps crept closer, soft soles whispering.
Margo fought not to shiver. To not even give that much reaction.
“You must be hungry. You’re not one of those waif types, and I have to say, I’m glad for it. It would’ve pained me if Simon had chosen poorly.”
Margo’s teeth sawed into her tongue again, every cell inside her shrieking. What was this? Who was this? She had to open her eyes, to know. But she couldn’t give that much away. Not yet.
So, she stayed quiet and still and tried not to flinch as the woman’s sickeningly sweet fragrance assaulted her senses. Familiar somehow. Fruit of some kind? Not plums or peaches. Or maybe a flower?
Cherries.
Cherry blossoms.
“My mother got a tattoo when I was little. It was the first time I ever saw one. It was so pretty and I wanted to touch it, but she smacked my hand away because it was fresh and the skin hurt. Pink flowers on thin branches.”
“Like cherry blossoms?”
“Is that what they’re called? Yeah, yeah, now that you mention it, I’ve heard of those before.” Simon laughed harshly. “Maybe I tried to block them out.”
A tear snuck free despite her fight not to let it. Could this…
No.
No.
His mother wasn’t around. Somehow even with the day’s missing details, she knew she hadn’t forgotten anything there. Mrs. Kagan hadn’t been part of the picture for a very long time.
She’d just…gone away.
Yet now she was back. There was no other explanation.
“Don’t cry, sweet Margo. You’re among family.”
Margo’s eyes finally flashed open and she stared almost sightlessly at the woman before her. Her tears blinded her, but once she blinked them away, the vision came clear.
An utterly beautiful woman with dark hair in an updo and crystalline blue-green eyes smiled benevolently down at her, her features unlined by time.
With one glance, Margo knew. This wasn’t a mistake. Even never having seen her before other than in a couple old, wrinkled photos, she recognized her face. Had seen a variation of it every day for the last few years.
Loved it more than she’d ever believed she could love anyone.
“Simon,” she whispered, and it was all she could get out before the sobs inside her broke free.
The woman stroked her hair, continuing even when Margo recoiled. But there was nowhere she could go.
She was trapped.
“Yes, my dear boy. I loved him so. We both love him, don’t we?”
“You don’t love him. You don’t know what it is to love a child.”
