Chapter 81 A Prisoner And A Queen

• [CAMI]
• The portrait hangs on the wall of the piano room, where the light hits it just right, softening everything sharp about her. My mother. Perfect curls. A dress she would’ve sold a kidney to buy. Makeup done so well it almost makes me angry. And a tiny mole above her lip, one I don’t remember ever seeing in real life. She looks… composed—like a woman who had her life together. Not the woman who forgot bills, forgot meals, forgot me—except when she needed company.
• I sigh.