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“Well, my little Rosie. I’m glad you’re okay.”

My jaw is on the floor. “Mum. Is… are you…”

A smile breaks across her face then.

“Aye, darling. ‘Tis me.”

I stumble forward and fall into her arms.

When I smell her familiar perfume, violets and vanilla, I start to cry.

I don’t know how long I spend blubbering in that foul alley, wrapped up in my mother’s arms. But by the time I’ve cried everything I have, her hands gently stroking my hair, I feel a thousand years older.

I feel empty.

But mostly I feel…

Confused.

I pull back. “How are you alive?” I whisper.

Sadness tugs at my mum’s face, pulling the corners of her eyes down. Instinctively, I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay. That I can take care of whatever is bothering her.

But, I can’t. I don’t know what’s making her sad. And now that all my tears have left my body, I sense something else, simmering deep underneath all the sorrow and worry I’ve carried for years.

Anger.

“This isn’t a conversation for a place like this,” she murmurs, her eyes darting around the alley. “Come. Bring your young man, and let’s go back to my place.”

I resist the urge to tell her that he’s not mine. Marco and I aren’t beholden to each other, in any way.

Except, apparently, for the fact that we can’t stop kissing each other.

I can’t think about that right now.

If I think about kissing Marco again, I’m going to melt into a puddle of emotions and I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to put myself back together.

You need to stop kissing him.

I’ll figure that out later.

My mum turns, and I look at Marco. His face is tight, a silent question etched into his brown eyes.

Do you trust her?

“I think I do,” I whisper.

His nostrils flare. I can tell he’s about to protest.

I shake my head. “She’s my mum, Marco.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mum stands at the edge of the alley, waiting. I look at Marco. “Kieran… my dad… they did something to her. Or that’s what I thought. It’s why I lived with them. My dad found me, and my mom had to give me to him.”

Marco’s lips thin. “I don’t know.”

“She’s my mum, Marco,” I plead.