MY MOTHER AND I were sat on the couch in silence for a solid ten minutes after our tearful reunion. She'd fixed us each a cup of tea before we took to our opposing sides, neither wishing to be the first to break the silence.

Of course, I was the first to eventually speak, if only for the fact the couch could at best be compared to a concrete bench.

"I thought you guys were away this weekend," I mumbled into the lip of my tea cup.

She frowned, carefully setting her own cup and saucer down on the table like the well-bred English woman she was. "We were meant to be. But I was feeling under the weather yesterday, so your father went alone."

I made a non-committal noise as I took a small sip of tea.

My mother sighed then, placing her laced hands in her lap. "Scarlett, I would appreciate it if you would simply tell me what you want."

I choked on my tea, coughing roughly as I set down my cup. "I beg your pardon?"

"You have not been home in weeks and you have ignored every effort your father and I have made to contact you. If it weren't for Mrs. Tylers and her step-daughter informing us of your whereabouts, we would have gone mad with worry. You cannot just run off like that."

And it looked like we were just going to jump right into it.

I shifted, crossing my arms over my chest. "No, what I could not do was stay under this roof after you guys dropped an atomic bomb on me without any warning. I needed space."

"You acted like a child," she stated firmly.

Oh no, she didn't.

"I am a child, mother," I said, as my voice raised an octave. "I am seventeen years old. I have been seventeen years old for exactly six months. You can't just expect me to take a hit like that and just get back up ten seconds later, like nothing ever happened."

"Of course not, Scarlett! But running away like that, skirting your responsibilities to your family and skipping classes, was highly immature and uncalled for."

"No. What was uncalled for was having my very carefully constructed reality demolished by an adoption wrecking ball wielded by my own parents!"

I noticed my mother flinch at my tone, ever so slightly, and I could feel the anger and hurt inside me melt away like an ice cube under boiling water.

"You lied to me. From the very beginning you lied," I whispered, well aware of a fresh set of tears welling in my eyes. "How could you do that to me, Mum?"

"Oh, Scarlett," my mother breathed, before scooting herself across the couch with as much poise and grace as one could, and enveloping me in her thin arms. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

And I cried. Tears streaked down my cheeks and sobs tore through my lungs, and my mother just held me. She held me, rocking me gently as her dainty hand rubbed circles on my back and she whispered reassurances in my ear.

Deep down in my chest, where my heart thrashed against my ribs, I felt a piece slide back into place. A piece I'd only just realized I desperately needed. They say you can't chose your family, and they're not wrong. But your family can chose you. And it had only taken me a couple weeks to finally realize that, while they lied, my parents had made the decision to love me like their own daughter. Because I was their daughter, in every way that mattered.

Lifting my head gently from my mother's shoulder, where I had left a substantial tear stain, I looked up into her eyes.

I'd heard more than one person say that my mother resembled a literal ice queen. They weren't wrong exactly, her white-blonde hair,  pale blue eyes and sharp features looked as if they could have been carved from a block of ice. But those people didn't really know her like I did. This was my mother, warm-hearted and loving. The woman who dedicated her life to helping others, even after suffering great loss. The woman who spent hours at night sitting by her daughters bed when she heard her screaming in her sleep at night. The woman who had done everything in her power to give her daughter a normal life after all she had been through.

Vasilisa Rostova may have been the woman who gave me life, but Charlotte Grey would always be the woman who gave me chance to have a life.

"I love you, Mum."

I spent the next few hours telling my mother about the last couple of weeks.

We talked about the tests I had written, assignments I had done, the shows and movies Aimee, Meghan and I had watched, and I told her about the big game, and the party afterwards.

Of course, I omitted a few minor details. Like my night at the penthouse, my sleepovers at Noah's and the majority of the events of last night. The last thing I needed was a lecture on how to be a proper young lady, and how that didn't involve spending copious amounts of time with teenage boys who were possibly involved in a handful of illicit activities.

"You cut your hair," Mum said suddenly, reaching out to touch one of the short blonde locks scattered across my shoulders.

I shrugged. "I just thought it was time for a change. Besides, all my long hair ever did for me was tangle and annoy me."

My mother let out a light laugh. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. It suits you."

A grin erupted on my face then, spreading my lips from ear to ear. "Thank you, Mum."

"Now, I gave Isobel the day off today, so I'm afraid that leaves us to our own devices for dinner tonight. Any ideas?"

I blinked, before letting out a loud laugh. My mother knew very well that neither of us was particularly skilled in the area of food preparation. In fact, we were both the kind of person who could burn water if given the opportunity. "That depends. Ordering in or going out?" I asked, eyeing my borrowed clothing that had surprisingly gone unnoticed.

"Whatever you would like, sweetheart."

Aw, mothers. So helpful.

Pausing for a minute I weighed the options and decided I was frankly tired of eating take-out. "Give me five minutes to change, and we'll head out to that sit-down place you like," I smiled, remembering her and Dad mentioning that it was there favorite place to go for her birthday every year.

I made my way upstairs and to my room at the end of the hall. I was happy to see that it hadn't changed at all since I'd last been here; however, I wasn't sure why I thought it would look any different. Heading over to my closet and picked out the first thing my hands touched, a grey sleeveless dress. I quickly swapped it out for the clothes I'd borrowed from Sienna and threw on a black shrug before heading back downstairs to where Mum was waiting by the front door with her purse and jacket on.

"Thought you might want these," she smiled handing me an unfamiliar set of keys as I slipped on my ever-present black booties.

I snatched them up, eyeing them with curiosity before I noticed the familiar emblem on them. "The Bentley?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You sure Clayton won't get annoyed if I change his seat settings?"

With a tinkling laugh, my mother opened the door and ushered me outside. "If he is such, I had nothing to do with it."

"You're terrible, Mum."

"Well, where on earth did you think you got your sense of humor from, dear? Not your father, I'm sure."

I missed this, I thought as we climbed into the car and made our way to the restaurant. "So when is Daddy going to be home?"

When she was finished messing about with the temperature dials, my mother leaned back and smiled. "He called while you were upstairs. His flight back is tomorrow morning, so he should be home some time in the evening. Will you be home for dinner?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road, but allowing a comfortable smile to curve my lips. "As long as Isobel is cooking, I'm there."

Minerva's had been my mother's favorite restaurant in the Bridgeport area since the day it opened. Situated by the pier, a good portion of the restaurant was windows that looked out on the water, which was particularly beautiful in the evening.

As a longstanding customer, Mum always managed to score a prime seat right beside the glass panes, making me glad I'd opted for a warm shrug over my dress.

It only took us a few moments to decide on our meals. To my chagrin, the restaurant happened to be one of those ones where you paid a small fortune for a very small portion on a rather large plate. Which meant that when my fillet mignon arrived, it was barely the size of my significantly small fist. Thankfully, the soft music playing from the piano in the corner covered the sound of my stomach growling in protest.

"So," Mum started as she began twirling her complicatedly-named pasta around on her fork. "Who was the boy who drove you home this evening?"

It took every ounce of control I had in me to not spit out the water I had just taken a sip of. "I'm sorry?" I asked bewilderedly, a little too loud.

Mum chuckled, and continued eating her pasta. "I can be fairly observant sometimes you see, Scarlett," she said with as smug a smile my sophisticated mother could manage.

When I said nothing in return, too dumbfounded to speak, she set down her fork and picked up her wine. "I saw him drop you off, sweetheart. I'm not so old and daft as you might think."

At that, I began stammering and tripping over my tongue as I rushed to tell her that wasn't what I meant. I was halfway between explaining to her that I in no way considered her to be old when she began laughing. Not the quiet, conservative chuckle like I was accustomed to, but a loud, unchecked laugh that caused the patrons at tables in our vicinity to throw frustrated scowls in our direction.

I'd never heard my mother laugh like that. It was refreshing to hear her let loose and stop caring about what the people around her thought. Even if it was just a quick glance, it was like I was seeing a different side of her. The side of a young woman in love, who had wanted so terribly to have a child of her own to raise, a woman who had dedicated her life to helping others. Now, seventeen years later, she had finally been given the chance to be a mother.

And I could only hope I would be good enough.

"Scarlett, sweetheart, I know that. I'm teasing you," she smiled, taking a sip of her wine.

"Oh," I said as a blush warmed my cheeks, only now realizing how embarrassing I must have been, ranting and babbling like a loon.

Suddenly, I became very interested in the fancy grilled vegetables on my plate.

A moment of silence passed between us before Mum spoke up again. "So, who was he?"

"You sound like a teenage girl, Mum," I muttered, rolling my eyes and stuffing a piece of zucchini in my mouth.

"Well, one of us has to," she mused. "And you are doing a terrible job of it."

My mother, the savage.

Blowing out a sigh, I put my fork down and rested my head on my fist, propping my elbow on the table despite all of Mum's futile etiquette lessons. "He's just a boy who gave me a ride, Mum."

"Rubbish."

Narrowing my eye, I shot her a rueful glare. It was becoming painstakingly obvious I wouldn't be able to weasel my way out of this conversation anytime in the near future. "His name is Noah."

The grin I received was the epitome of satisfaction. Satisfaction at her daughter's defeat. "And when did you meet this Noah?"

Feeling nostalgic, I launched into the tale of how I had met the infamous Noah Kennedy. Obviously I had censored the story, leaving out the parts that might have Mum reconsidering the obvious look of joy on her face.

I mean, what she doesn't know can't hurt her, right?

"You like this boy, don't you, sweetheart?" Mum asked as we moved our empty plates to the side for the waiter to take away. Given the free space on the table between us, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around mine and squeezed them gently.

Her hand was warm and soft. This was a gesture I had become familiar with in the early months after my return, before I became accustomed to hugging or any other form of close physical contact. Some days, this was the only touch I would allow. I knew it was small and insignificant to most, but that tiny squeeze of her fingers around mine meant more to me than any hug I would ever be given.

Slowly, I nodded, feeling the blood warm in my cheeks. "He's different."

"How is that, darling?"

"I feel safe. Not just that I'm not worried he'll hurt me. I'm just safe to be me. He wants to get to know me for me, he doesn't act like he's already got me figured out already. I don't have to pretend to be someone else."

A worried frown pinched between her brows at my words. "I'm so glad to hear that. But, who do you feel you have to pretend for?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. The people at school, my friends, they all seem to have these expectations for me. Like I'm supposed to be some way because of... everything that happened. Whether they want me to be who I was before, or they expect me to be some loonie basket case, they all seem to think they know who I am. But there's no way they could. I mean, how could they know who I am when even I don't know who I am?"

A frown was still painted on my mother's face. I could tell by the look in her eyes she was searching for the right words to say. It was a look she often wore when I talked about the past, about the time before I was taken from her. I wanted to tell her many times that she shouldn't worry about saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, just hearing the love and concern in her voice made things better, no matter what words they were.

But this time, the words she spoke were exactly what I needed to hear. "I don't think we ever truly know who we are, Scarlett. And that's okay. Nobody needs to know who they are because that is something that's always changing. What's important is knowing who we want to be in the future, and doing all we can to become that person. Don't let other people tell you who you should be. Frankly, it's none of their business. It's up to you, and just know that no matter who it is you become, you will always be Scarlett. Good, and brave, and strong, with more love in her heart than most."

The tears were back again, brimming in my eye and threatening to flow over onto my cheeks. With a swift hand, Mum wiped them away. "Just be you, be Scarlett, and the right people will choose to love you."

"You think so?" I whispered, looking up into her face with wide eyes.

She smiled then, and a warm feeling of comfort washed over me. "I know so."

Hello all you beautiful people! Hope you liked this chapter. For once, I've got nothing much to say, so I'll leave you with a very basic farewell.

Totally kidding 😹😹😹
If you were happy to see Scarlett make things right with her mum, leave a vote by tapping that itty-bitty star on your screen and leave me a comment letting me know how you feel about Scar's mum.
Do you like her? Do you want to gift wrap a BEST MOM EVER mug for her? Or would you rather hit her upside the head with a parenting manual? I mean, at least she didn't walk in on her daughter and offer snacks and condoms, am I right? 😹

I'd love to hear your thoughts🖤🖤🖤
'Til next time, don't do anything I wouldn't do 😉