12
I was trending. Someone had posted my
performance online. People were calling me “the real deal,” “iconic,” “a true artist.” They
said I embodied “white moonlight,” a feeling,
not a look I watched the video Hair un whito
<
not a look. I watched the video. Hair up, white
dress… it seemed normal to me. I’d looked like
this eighteen years ago. Why was it suddenly
significant?
Mrs. Davis showed up, giddy with excitement.
“Mrs. Morris, you’re a star! And you know
what? Mr. Morris came home and had a huge
fight with Amelia. He told her she’s not allowed
to wear her hair up or wear white dresses
anymore!”
“Why?” I asked, baffled.
“Who knows? But I think he finally realized
you’re the real deal. Amelia’s just a cheap
imitation!”
The tables had turned. But what did I care? I
thanked Mrs. Davis and invited her to stay for
dinner. She waved her hands frantically.
“Dinner? No time! You need to go back!
Reclaim your rightful place! Get rid of Amelia!”
<
I laughed. Go back? To be someone else’s
rose? “No, thanks. I’m busy planting my own
roses.” I gestured to the backyard, where a new
batch of rose bushes awaited. Mrs. Davis
sighed and left.
I started planting. Midway through, someone
took the trowel from my hand. Mark, in a white
linen shirt, stood beside me, holding two straw
hats. He placed one on my head. “Don’t get
sunburned, silly.”
Years ago, when we’d planted roses together,
he’d done the same. White shirt, two straw
hats… It was like a scene replayed. But all I felt
was nausea. I gagged, stepping back, knocking
the hat off my head.
Mark’s smile faltered. He froze, then recovered,
picking up the hat. “Lily, I was wrong. I’m
sorry.” His voice was earnest. “Your
performance… it shook me. I realized the
woman I truly loved was right here all along.
Amelia is nothing compared to you.” He
stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “When you
stopped caring, my life felt empty. I didn’t
understand why. Then I saw you on stage… hair
up, white dress… you looked like the Lily I fell
in love with. Amelia was just a pale imitation.” He gazed at me, his eyes filled with longing. “I
sent Amelia away. Ethan doesn’t want her either. Come back to me, Lily. Play for me.”
“No.” I pulled out my phone and called the
police.
Mark, undeterred, chuckled. “Still angry? |
understand. It was my fault, and Ethan’s. Come home. We’ll be a family again.”
I ignored him, speaking to the dispatcher.
Before the police arrived, Peter rushed in,
placing himself between Mark and me. Mark
glared at him. “Son, you need to leave. Lily isn’t
your mother.”
<
“She is,” Peter stated calmly.
Mark was furious, but someone was even more
enraged. Ethan appeared, shoving Peter to the
ground. “Lily is MY mom! You’re nothing! I’ll kill
you!” Ethan, no longer the reserved boy, was
consumed by rage.
Peter fought back. Ethan pulled a rock from his
pocket and raised it above Peter’s head. I
reacted instinctively, swinging my trowel and
hitting Ethan square in the face.
