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MARIA

Sitting opposite that woman made me realise how much she had changed.

First of all, she'd gained weight. My mother was an underweight, malnourished woman who ate one small meal a day to survive. But the woman sat before me had round cheeks; her slim V shape face had been dissolved. Her arms actually held shape and muscle. She wasn't massively different, but definitely had some extra padding on her.

Not to mention, she didn't have her hair held back into a tight bun as she used to. Her dark brown hair was shorter and over her shoulders. She used to hate having her hair in the way.

The main change was her eyes. They weren't the usual stone cold, grey eyes that could burn through your soul. They were warm as they gazed at me. It was a look that I hadn't seen before; kind, open and genial.

I looked just like Mamma. Her intent eyes studied my face, as though to take in how much I had changed, how the young girl she had left behind was different and had grown into a young woman. She deeply inhaled, her hands clasped tightly together. I could see the veins poking out of her skin at how tight she was squeezing her hands together.

Was she nervous? She looked like it. Our eyes would meet in the silence between us and she would struggle to maintain the contact. Mamma could always win a stare off before. One look from her would be like a dagger shot through me. I used to always be scared of her strong gaze. Not anymore.

"Maria," she said. I swallowed, watching her. Hearing her voice again made the hair on the back of my neck rise. Her eyes slowly met mine again, moving away from the cups of tea on the table before us.

"You're supposed to be dead," was how I responded, in a cold manner. Mamma's eyes expanded a little at my tone. She licked her lips, sitting up straighter on her seat. She didn't seem offended at my tone. The old mother I knew would've shouted at me for sounding rude.

"The whole world thinks Evangelina Marchetti is dead," I pressed further, my eyes throwing daggers at her. I had no intentions of showing her mercy. "And yet, here you are. You're sat here in a hidden place away from the rest of the world like a coward." There was so much press after my mother 'died'. The theories, conspiracies erupted since her body was never found. Die-hard fans never believed that she died, and there I was thinking they were crazy. I could still remember all the endless articles.

Her lips parted but nothing came out. She inhaled slowly as though to calm herself. I noticed one hand holding onto the other to stop it from shaking. My eyes were stuck on them until she brought her hands under the table, looking like she'd taken a gulp.

"Eva—"

The kitchen door suddenly opened and a man walked in with his arms carrying a load of groceries. He was buff and looked like he had been out all day in the sun. His eyes widened at the sight of me and he glanced between us in astonishment.

"John..." Mamma said in a docile voice, her eyes darting between me and him.

"Oh. Sorry. I thought you were still upstairs, I didn't mean to disturb." He had a polite and cheerful manner of speaking. He quickly placed the groceries down and nodded slowly, giving me a welcoming smile that I refused to reciprocate as I coldly stared at him.

"Hi, I'm John. I was looking after you when you passed out." Then I realised that he looked like the guy in the pictures. The strong one holding that little girl up on his shoulders, the one hugging Mamma, the one holding a newborn. That was him. He looked like he was trying to push through the awkwardness. He wiped his hands on his cargo trousers and smiled, gently letting out an awkward laugh. I noticed the ring on both of their left hands. So she was married. I was surprised that she found love.

I couldn't help but scoff at the sight. "I'm Maria," I replied unfeelingly. "Do you know I'm your wife's first daughter? You know, the one that she used to abuse?"

My mother didn't look at me. Her eyes went to anywhere but my face. She was a lot quieter than she used to be. John looked at her for a few seconds, as though to check if she was alright. It made my stomach twist inside. In a split second I could see how much he cared for her. He looked at her with love that it made me sick. She didn't deserve it.

John still held his friendly smile as his eyes averted back to me. "I'm sure you guys have a lot to speak about. I would like to let you know that you probably just have a stomach bug. I've gotten some medication for you."

"Thanks, John," I casually responded. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. "I'm assuming you're a doctor?"

He nodded, "I am." I wasn't surprised by his words. I was more surprised that she'd married someone with a normal life.

"Quite different to her ex-husband," I sharply observed, "he was a gambler if you didn't know." I kept my eyes on her and she finally looked at me, as if I had brought up a topic that spiked a memory for her. My father never tenderly called my mother by her name or 'Eva'.

John placed the prescription bag on the side of the table. "I'll let you guys continue your conversation." He understood that it was his time to leave and when the door shut, silence filled the room once again.

"So come out with it then," I let out, my face was hard. "What is there to talk about?"

Mamma finally had something told say. "Maria..." She gently said, still holding that longing look in her eyes. "How...how are you?"

"How am I?" I repeated, letting out another scoff. I rolled my eyes, unfazed by her question. "I don't know, really. Besides being annoyed that I've been barfing all morning, I'm a little infuriated that I've woken up to see my dead mother sat opposite me."

Mamma looked genuine as she expressed, "Maria, I never wanted to leave you." I refrained my eyes from rolling again as she started with the excuses. "I never wanted to leave you alone with him. I just never expected—I never thought that..."

"I wish that you never saw what you saw that night," Mamma finally found the words to say. I hated how sincere she sounded, like she actually cared. Like she missed me and wished to erase that night from my mind. It was a lie, I wouldn't believe a single thing coming from her.

My body stiffened at the thought of that night. Her body over that balcony. That scream.

I sharply inhaled. "So do I," I could only say. "But I did so I don't understand how you're here."

Mamma looked conflicted in her own thoughts. She slowly exhaled as though to brace herself before answering, "I should've died." My eyebrows creased at her words. She nodded slowly, "I should've died that night but I woke up in hospital instead. Far, far away from you and Luna."

"One of the people who were supposed to get rid of me saved me. They sent me to a hospital far from anyone's reach," Mamma explained, calmly, "and I stayed there for almost a year." Then her eyes moved over to the walking stick not too far away. "I broke all kinds of bones in my body and had so many surgeries. But I've permanently damaged my leg. I can't walk properly without my crutch." I felt no pity for her.

"Then what? You married your doctor?" I couldn't stop being bitter, having no sympathy for her. She didn't snap like her last self would've.

Instead, she gently replied, "I was going through a hard time in my life alone. I met John when I was about to quit life all together." I couldn't care less about how she met her new husband, instead, I clenched my jaw and felt the anger rise within me.

I retorted, "then you ran off and had another child? What? Another child to use and torment for your dream?"

"Maria, I understand your anger and frustration," she tried, her voice sounding so stupidly gentle and understanding that it was irritating me. Why couldn't she just drop the fake pretence and reveal her true, dark nature? "But it's not what you think. I didn't intentionally leave you and Luna. I never wanted that."

"But you did," I pointed out harshly. "You abandoned your two daughters to make a life of your own. A family of your own." I scoffed again. "That's the least of my frustrations right now. It worked out not living with you, you tormented me."

"I..." She drifted from the topic slightly. "I never expected to ever see you here. Like this. I always wanted to—to apologise to you. I wanted to do it properly. Maria,
I'm—""

"I don't want your useless apologies or pleas for forgiveness," I harshly responded, my eyebrows narrowing at her. I wouldn't fall for her tricks. "I'm never, ever going to forgive you for what you did to me. What you did to Luna. Knowing that you're alive changes nothing. I will continue to act like you're dead because that's all you are to me—dead."

She froze. Her wide eyes were set on me and couldn't hide their hurt and pain. I wanted her to feel it, my hatred for her. I wanted her to feel guilty, ashamed, regretful. I wanted her to realise and acknowledge how horrible she was to me, and that was what lead me to offload every single thing running through my mind at that moment.

"I hate you," I said, feeling my nose begin to tingle as I remembered the torture I went through growing up. "You ruined my life. You raised me to be your puppet, to be controlled and tamed, to be just like you so I could take over your company, your stardom."

I didn't stop there, mouth became the escape route for all of my bottled up anger to be released from. "You were a horrible mother to me. I don't even understand how you could possibly have another child under your care to abuse! You fucking tormented me," I couldn't hide the anguish in my shaking voice. I was so hurt, so upset that it was angering me the more I spoke. It was all coming out, unstoppable and uncontrollable. "You hit me, yelled at me, controlled me and made me feel so worthless about myself at such a young age!" I didn't even realise my voice was rising again until my throat became sore.

"And my father?" I fumed, "I grew up in a house that never felt like a home." I had seen a lot of traumatising things as a child; my parents' arguments, their substance and domestic abuse. All things a child never should have seen or even heard.

"You made me lose all my self esteem," I blurted out, feeling my throat tighten. I could feel my blood boiling inside. "I used to cry so many nights, I wouldn't eat basic and normal foods because I was so afraid of gaining weight. I was so scared of being judged, of being overweight. So scared that I'd starve myself for so long and then binge eat at night until my cravings would disappear." I exhaled slowly, my eyes welling up with tears. I never wanted to cry before her, but I couldn't control myself. It was all coming out right then and there.

"I've never been fully happy," I expressed tearfully, constantly wiping away tears as I glowered at her. "I can't eat like a normal person. I question its calories, the taste, the relevance. In the back of my mind, I'm always thinking about how full I am, constantly battling against throwing up if I have a treat because you trained my body to reject food!" I shook my head, even thinking about how hard it had been to have a better relationship with the food I eat.

My hard eyes glared at her. "I'd shove my fingers down my throat and vomit over and over and over." It started raining outside, I could hear the heavy pelting rain thundering down. I deeply inhaled, quickly wiping the stray tears leaking out. "I always felt so fucking tired," I bitterly said, an unstoppable anger filling me. "I never had the energy to do anything because I never fucking ate a thing! Then I'd dance from the early hours of the morning to the next. Over and over again until you were satisfied that I had drained myself enough, worthy to say that I worked hard."

Then I sourly let out a chuckle, "you trained a little girl like a slave for hours and hours every single day."

"Was it worth it?" I questioned her, feeling even more enraged to see that her eyes were filling with tears. I scoffed again, burning with rage as my voice raised, "are you happy now that I own Dream? That I'm exactly how you wanted me to be, your fucking star!" I ran my hand through my hair and felt the tears roll down my cheeks. That was it, I was crying in front of her.

"I never feel happy after a performance. You never even complimented me—there was always something I did wrong, something I needed to perfect!" 

I couldn't stop myself from ranting on. "You pushed me into a toxic industry where I've been sexualised, mistreated, looked down on. To the point where I've been kidnapped just for being a ballerina." It was all a blur; I just kept going and going with whatever was popping up in my mind, whatever had been contained for so long that it just bursted out without making complete sense.

"I'm always questioning if I'm good enough!" I blamed her for everything, every single thing that went wrong in my life. "You pushed me away from the one person that cared about me and now..." That was it. At the thought of everything thing I had gone through and lost, the most important one being Leonardo, I couldn't control my tears any longer.

Unwillingly, I broke down in front of her. My hands covered my face as I sobbed. The rest of my pain and agony came out in tears, I sobbed out all of my life's adversities in front of the main cause of it all.

"Why couldn't you just be my mom?" My muffled voice cried. My whole body leaned forwards as I cried, my once rigid shoulders loosening and slumping. "Why couldn't you just love me and take care of me like all the other mothers?" I heaved out my pain, deep and sorrowful cries leaving me as I wept, "I loved you. I respected you but you just..."

It was too much being with her again. Someone I had believed was dead all my life was suddenly appearing in front of me. All the things I thought I would've said, the things I thought I would've done had disappeared in thin air. I never would've expected to cry in front of her, that I'd vent my life's pain like that.

Any other mother and daughter would've cried tears of joy of seeing each other again. But instead, all I felt was anger and indignation. I was frustrated that she still had a life, but I felt guilty and like I was betraying myself for being glad that she was alive. That she wasn't murdered by her abusive husband. I didn't understand my emotions, I didn't understand why I was even conflicted in both sides. That day was a lot for me to take in.

"You were my madre," I cried, my sore eyes leaking tears that streamed down my cheeks. "All you needed to do was care for me. Hug me, comfort me, encourage me. But all you did was traumatised me. I blamed myself for so long thinking I wasn't good enough to be your daughter—"

A sob left me at the thought. All those nights I used to cry over and over, thinking about how I wasn't worthy enough to be the Evangelina Marchetti's daughter. I was just a child, I never should've had thoughts like that constantly running around in my mind.

Then I finally looked up again, sniffling and wiping my eyes to meet hers. Those grey orbs were filled with tears. I hadn't realised that she was also crying in silence, sitting there and letting me release all my frustrations. She was actually crying, her eyes were reddening and her whole face was covered in sadness. For once, in my entire life, my mother looked like she had regretted everything. Like she was guilty and apologetic.

"You didn't love me," was all I could whisper, my heart aching in pain.

The sadness lingered in her glistening eyes.

Then I could only repeat again, "you don't love me."

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~ Author's Note ~

Maria has finally had a chance to sit down with her mother and speak with her.

That heavy conversation let her express her feelings to someone she thought that she'd never meet again.

Do you think Maria should reconcile with her mother again?

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Thanks for reading!

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