I nod, the tension in my shoulders easing. Being on the road with our daughters is chaos, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. They nap in soundproofed bunks on the bus. Eat lunch on yoga mats backstage with mini guitars in their hands. They think this is normal.
For now, I face the media tent. Sit in front of a branded backdrop with about fifty mikes in front of me to answer any question lobbed my way.
Reviews. Streaming numbers. The European leg selling out in record time. Filling in for LTZ. Upcoming US Tour. The new album pushing old albums to chart. I give them everything they want. A few smart quips. A few knowing smiles. Keep the momentum light, intentional. Polished.
Predictably, the questions shift.
“What’s it like being a new kind of frontwoman in rock?” one woman asks. “You’re a mother, you’re a writer, you’re headlining festivals across Europe. Some are calling you the feminist voice of the genre.”
This one gets to me. “I’m flattered by the label, but I didn’t ask for it. I try to speak from where I’ve been. There’s power in the voice you reclaim for yourself.”
They nod, eat it up.
Another voice cuts in. British. A bit snooty. “Speaking of reclaiming, you’ve alluded to your upbringing in other interviews. The restrictive religious environment. Purity culture. You escaped it, obviously.”
“Avonna,” he glances at his notebook like it’s a legal document, “there are rumors circulating about your personal life. Specifically about your relationship with your guitarist and your manager. Are the rumors true?”
The tent goes still.
Liam and Padraig are in Press Line B, but Linus is at the edge of the tent watching me. His eyes flash, lock on the man. The rest of the media watches me.
No one so much as blinks.
“Would you care to comment?” he adds. “There are some who find it hypocritical. You left a high-control belief system only to enter a nontraditional polygamous arrangement, arguably mirroring the environment you fled. It raises questions, don’t you think? About consent. Power. Influence.”
The question lands like a slap. It’s calculated.
Designed to go viral.
My entire body stiffens. This is the moment. One we’ve known was coming. We haven’t exactly hidden our life, but we’ve never invited the world into it either. Not publicly. Not loudly.
Immediately, I picture my beautiful girls. Rumors spread faster than facts. If I don’t handle this carefully, their lives become the headline.
I sit up straighter. The air in the tent stills.
“I don’t comment on gossip.” I keep my voice cool. “Especially when it’s crafted to provoke more than enlighten.”
The reporter opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but I cut him offwith a look.
“My story isn’t a cautionary tale. It’s a reclamation. Everything I’ve built, I’ve chosen. I spent the first part of my life following rules made to control me. I will not spend the rest of it justifying the freedom I fought for.”
I let this settle. Hang in the air.
Then, softer, but no less direct. “I’m raising daughters, so this is important. I didn’t leave one cage to build another. No one in my life controls me. Every choice I make is mine.”
Behind the cluster of cameras, I see Linus step forward. Not intervening. Present. Steady.
I draw a breath. Hold my line. “If that unsettles anyone, it’s between them and their own reflection.”
The tour publicist jumps in fast. “Okay, folks, That’s all for today.”
I’m already on my feet when the crowd of reporters shifts, questions still bubbling, My daughters are waiting. My partners, too.
Let the media write their stories.
We’re living ours.
Linus’s hand finds mine as we cut across the gravel path toward the performer village, heads ducked, energy spent. The crowd still roars somewhere past the barricades, another band taking the stage, but I’m already thinking about juice boxes and bedtime stories. Our girls are with our nanny, Shannon and Maureen, back at the hotel, probably begging for more bubble bath.
