She appears in the doorway instantly, like she sensed my breaking point.
“Wanna grab coffee? I’m bored out of my mind here.”
She rolls her green eyes, crossing her arms. “Well, perhaps if you let me help…”
I shake my head, fingers already rubbing at the ache forming at the base of my skull. “You want to look through a year of accounts?”
She frowns. “Don’t you pay someone to deal with that shit?”
I nod, tapping my nails against the wood in a restless rhythm. “Yes. But they still need something to actually report. And for some reason, I thought a paper trail was safer than emails. I was wrong.”
My gaze drops to the papers spilling across the desk like evidence of my own stubbornness.
Never again.
“I could organize them, maybe? Month by month? Toss out those designer bag receipts?” She asks, she’s always keen to help.
A soft laugh slips out of me. “Yeah. I gotta stop buying them.”
I push myself up, rolling my shoulders, stretching my neck until it pops. My body feels tight, coiled, like it’s been bracing for something all morning without me realizing why.
“Shall we go get a massage too?” I grin. “My treat.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh my god, yes. There’s a new place that just opened. I’ll see if they have an appointment.”
“You call them. I’ll go lock up the front.”
I close my office door and step into the main gallery, my pace slowing instinctively. The space wraps around me. A gothic dream brought to life. Silver skulls designed by hand. Skeleton hands holding candles along the walls. Every detail is intentional. Every inch earned.
This place is mine.
I breathe it in.
Oh. The crystals need to go out tonight. They need a recharge as much as I do.
As I reach the front doors, something makes me pause. A shadow on the other side of the glass where there shouldn’t be one.
My fingers curl around the handle as I pull the door open slowly.
And freeze.
“Mom?” I whisper.
I haven’t seen her since the last time I danced.
She looks different. More polished. More put together. But there’s something off. Her blonde hair drains the color from her face instead of brightening it. Her cheeks are hollow. Drawn tootight over bone. She’s aged, but not gracefully, like time was unkind because she deserved it.
She smiles, pushing her oversized glasses up onto her head.
“Lily.” The guilt in her voice hits first.
I take a step back. “No. You don’t get to do this, Mom.”
My voice shakes despite myself.
I don’t slam the door. I don’t know why I can’t.
“Lily, please. I just wanted to see my little girl.” Her voice breaks.
