“No, he’s all grown up now,” she replies, pride lacing her tone.“Got offered a job in advertising and moved to New York.”
Her pride in her son is contagious and makes my smile widen.“You’re such a great mom.I can just tell.”
“I do my best,” she says with a simple shrug.“All parents do.”
A bitter laugh catches in my throat, but I say nothing, swirling my spoon around the bowl.
My mother’s “best” was a daily serving of guilt for a father who left us.A home so empty of warmth that I chose a life of running from place to place just to feel… something else.
“I can tell you’re under a lot of stress,mija.”Helen reaches across the small table, her hand covering mine.
She must think my sudden silence is about tonight.
I don’t correct her.Instead, I nod slowly.
“Going there to face him instead of humiliating myself feels so right.But I’d be lying if I said I have any idea what I’m going to do, or say.I have no clue.”
“Sí, claro, but you listen to me,” she starts, her voice low but fierce.“You are Amy Beckett, proud owner of Maddy’s Place.You walk up to him and his group with your head high, and you speak your truth.What James tried to make you do?That’s on him, not you.Don’t you dare carry his shame.”She squeezes my hand.“You are strong.You are not his to command like that.Entiendes?You understand me?”
Tears of immense gratitude prick my eyes, blurring Helen’s earnest face.I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
A small, satisfied smile touches her lips.“Bueno.”She releases my hand.“I can tell you’re done with that chili, and you still have to get ready.So you’d better get going.”
I take a shaky breath, feeling a little more fortified.A little more human than when I arrived.“I know you’re sick of hearing me say it, but I can’t help it… Thank you, really, for everything.”I push my chair back and grab my purse and keys.
“De nada, mija.” She rises from her chair.“Be strong, but also be careful,por favor.”Her hug is quick but fierce, full of unspoken support and a mother lode of belief.
“I will,” I promise, before leaving her apartment.
The warmth of Helen’s apartment vanishes the moment I step back inside the café.The quiet here isn’t the gentle calm of a home; it’s the unnerving silence of an empty stage waiting for the tragedy to begin.My footsteps echo, sharp and solitary, as I cross the dimmed main area.The stacked chairs look like shadowy spectators watching me walk toward my office.
There it is, laid out on the couch like a silent challenge.The black halter mini dress.My small clutch and matching heels below it.
For a moment, I just stare.
Helen’s words, pulsing in my ears.
You are Amy Beckett, proud owner of Maddy’s Place.You are strong, and you are not his to command.
With a deep breath that has zero effect on the frantic bird fluttering in my chest, I begin.
The dress slides on, the smooth fabric a world away from the comfortable jeans and sweater I just shed.My fingers find the small clasp behind my neck.As it clicks shut, a chill prickles my bare shoulders and back.It’s not a shiver of fear, but the cold thrill of choosing to be exposed.Of finding a strange power in my own deliberate vulnerability.
I smooth the material down my torso.The keyhole cutout just below the collarbone is a clear dare.At my waist, the two golden wings gather the fabric before the skirt falls in a sleek, unforgiving line to mid-thigh.
Crossing the hallway to the washroom, I flick on the light and face the mirror to assess.
The woman staring back is someone I barely recognize.Paler than usual, yes, with the shadows beneath her eyes evidence of sleepless night, but her gaze…
Her gaze is direct, unwavering.
The dress transforms her.Sculpts her.
A garment of defiance.
I pull my hair back severely from my face into a tight bun.No stray tendrils.Nothing to hide behind.And certainly no wig of curls—the disguise James joked I leave behind.
This time, it’s just me.
