Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

No one ever did.

After a few days, the lack of interference confirmed what she always thought: certain people didn’t matter. No one would ever take her from the luxury of her life to punish her for ruining the nothingness of someone else’s.

She was free.

It was an odd moment to reminisce about now, detached from the world she had known. Separated from the people she once knew. Isolated from the many others who never knew the real Amelia Boone Parker.

She thinks back to the woman she used to be. The woman who spotted Sarah that day in the center. Their roles seemed so defined then. Which person was meant to be a mother, which one was meant to make a mess of her life. It seemed all Amelia had done since that day was take from those around her, mastermind ruin and corruption, even if it didn’t feel that way at the time. To Amelia, her actions had felt right, justified.

How ironic that Sarah ended up besting her after all. More than that, she succeeded in being the mother Amelia herself never deserved to be.

Epilogue

Ava turns two years old today.

I spread a plastic tablecloth over the picnic table, watching as the wind lifts and furls it. I fasten down the corners with decorative weights and start unpacking two-liter bottles and plastic cups.

This year’s party isn’t as extravagant. We moved it outside, enjoying the warm weather on the beach underneath a community pavilion. I only invited those who play an important role in our lives, which I realize now is still a good amount of people. One by one, they arrive. First, Des, clutching two gift bags in one hand and balancing pizza boxes with the other.

“Let me help you,” I say, taking the pizza.

“Beautiful day today,” she says, standing with her shoulders back, taking a deep inhale of salty air.

“Cake, Mamma. Cake.” Ava stands by me, tugging on my shirt.

“Just a minute, honey,” I tell her, resting my hand on the top of her head.

It’s amazing how much Ava has changed since last year. She no longer looks like a baby, although I guess in my mind she’ll always be one. She’s grown taller, her shoulders and hips filling out. She is turning into a child. My child. She’s talking more and more, the two of us beginning to have brief conversations. Each milestone makes me more thankful for the time we have together.

Next, Carmen arrives, with Preston and Penny leading the way down the ramp. Each is holding their own gift-wrapped box, and Carmen has a designer purse hanging from the crook of her arm.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says, kissing my cheek.

“No worries. It’s just us. We’re still waiting on a few others to arrive.”

“Evan says he’s stuck in traffic, but he’ll arrive before we start opening the presents.”

When Evan first moved back to North Bay, his plan had been to start his own firm. After Carmen kicked Michael to the curb, she decided she needed a different type of partner: a business one. She invited Evan to join her practice; the two have been working together for the past six months.

Evan has been around a lot more lately. We haven’t fully labeled what we are, but I believe the feelings we had for each other never went away. The way he and Ava look at each other, it’s like love has always been there between them, too. I can finally admit I can’t imagine a future without him.

The kids are already tearing into the pizza. Ava throws her crust on the sand. Minutes later, a bird flies by and swoops it up. The children giggle.

“Cake. Cake,” she says again, looking down the ramp.

I turn, looking in the direction to which Ava is pointing. Mom is walking toward us, carrying a small white box.

“I told you it would be just a minute,” I say.

Mom sits beside us, letting Ava crawl into her lap. She squeezes her between her arms, craning her neck to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday, my precious girl,” she whispers.

Carmen’s plea deal worked. After uncovering the allegations against Bruce and the manipulation by Amelia, the most serious charges were dropped. Because of the cancer, Mom was granted a compassionate release for the remaining charges. As long as she meets the terms of her probation and stays out of trouble, which I don’t foresee being a problem, she won’t spend time in jail.

Amelia, on the other hand, will likely spend the rest of her life there. Assault. Home invasion. Witness tampering. Murder. Even though she is fighting every charge with a pricey lawyer at her side, she won’t return to the real world. It seems fitting; she stole Mom’s life, forced her to live her best years in hiding. In more ways than one, everything appears to be coming back around.

The boards on the pavilion creak as another person comes walking toward us. A woman. Mom and I both stand.

“Is that her?” I ask.

A smile spreads across Mom’s face. “I think it is.”

The woman has dyed red hair and is wearing a black crochet top. As she gets closer, she holds out her arms. Mom walks to her and the two women embrace.

Jamie’s decision to come forward was crucial. Once she heard there was an update in the Baby Caroline case, she was conflicted about what to do. When the media began reporting Mom had been attacked, it was the push she needed to reach out to me. She’d been calling the hospital asking for me for days, too afraid to contact me another way; she wasn’t sure what my reaction might be. She and Mom have been in touch in recent months, but this is the first time they have seen each other in over thirty years.

They walk closer.

“Jamie, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Marion,” Mom says.

There are tears rolling down Jamie’s cheeks as she smiles. “She’s absolutely