The door of the stall opens with a click, and she comes to the sink to wash her hands. I watch from the corner of my eye as she seems so unbothered, so blasé while her child has been wrestling between life and death for the last few years.
How is she a mother?
She makes to leave, and I finally speak.
"You didn't recognize me,mamma?" I imitate Chiara's high-pitched voice.
"Oh dear God, you scared me." She turns around, assessing me. She narrows her eyes at me before breaking into a smile. "Now that is a costume. I couldn't tell it was you at all," she comes over, her hand moving over my face affectionately.
She's never once touched me so tenderly before.
I'm motionless as I watch her display such care for the first time. She's still oblivious to my identity, her fingers moving around my body as she tries to right my clothes.
Like a mother should.
"Who did you sleep with now?" she asks, her eyes trailing down my legs where the grass is still imprinted on my knees. "Itold you to tone it down. We don't want people to doubt Luca's paternity when we finally get rid of Enzo," she says, her voice mildly chastising but mostly full of doting indulgence.
"I was thinking about my sister tonight," I veer the subject into uncomfortable territory, needing to see her reaction. Her features change immediately, and her previous loving smile is now full of malice.
"Don't!" Her tone is sharp. "Remember, you never had a sister to begin with," she continues, her twisted words paining me even more.
"Maybe she didn't have to die," I continue to probe, wanting her ugliness to come out.
"Chiara!" she exclaims, taking a step back, her expression outraged. "What's gotten into you? She was never part of the family! She was just someone we could use and discard. Let that sink into your head. She was a means to an end." She laughs. "It certainly gave us all this," she waves her hand around.
"Sorry,mamma, I'm a little introspective tonight. We're identical twins… I was thinking it could have easily been me who was the outcast and she your beloved child."
Her hands grab my shoulders, and her gaze meets mine. I see determination and an unwavering conviction.
"Don't, dear. She could have never taken your place. I knew from the moment you both came into the world that my heart could only love one child. You were so precious…" She sighs. "You took to me immediately, hugging me and offering your unconditional love. Your sister," her nostrils flare, her eyes narrowing, "besides the fact that she almost caused me to bleed out, she also had the audacity to cry whenever I tried to touch her. She hated me from the first. Mynonnahad warned me that she was bad luck, and I started seeing just how bad she was."
"You're everything a parent could have wanted, my darling Chiara," she says, taking me into her arms and giving me my first-ever parental hug.
I'm uncharacteristically uncaring as I realize the thing I'd longed for the most was nothing but an illusion. Why did I ever crave the affection of this woman? I look down at her and I almost feel ashamed that I would have done anything to gain her approval—including giving myself as a sacrificial lamb to Franzè.
At least now I'll have a clean conscience.
"Thank you, Mamma," I say, letting her have one moment to soak in this interaction before bursting her bubble.
She turns to the mirror to arrange her hair, all the while talking about some fashion nonsense. Moving behind her, my hands are already gloved and my little pouch has all the tools I need to make this an unforgettable experience.
Placing my hand on the back of her head, I simply apply enough pressure that one second she's sitting upright and staring in the mirror, and the next her face makes contact with the edge of the counter.
The music is loud, blasting throughout the house. But even so, the noise of bone against marble makes a resounding thud.
"What…" she stammers.
"Oh, Mother dear, but I forgot to tell you one detail. I'm not Chiara," I whisper in her hair, and I watch the mirror for the change in her expression—self-assuredness turning into fear.
"You can't… you're dead," she keeps repeating, her eyes wild.
"I feel very much alive," I say with a shrug, proving my point by banging her head against the marble again.
"How… how could you…" Her voice is already broken and filled with pain. I know all too well because I, too, had my face smashed against a hard surface. "I'm your mother!" she yells.
"My mother?" I snort, my fingers tightening in her hair. "The title of 'mother' isn't by birth alone," I snicker at her, a violent storm brewing inside me. "It has to be earned. What did you ever do for me to call you that? Sell me? Kill me?"
She whimpers, her hands moving wildly by her side, trying to grasp at me.
