11
Mom was out shopping. The doorbell rang.
Mom and Britney stood there, Britney’s face
a mask of fury: I went to shut the door.
“Thud!” Mom knelt, her face impassive, as if
this act meant nothing. She was kneeling for
Britney? I scoffed.
“How long do I have to kneel?” she asked, her
voice trembling.
I leaned against the door, looking at Britney.
“I thought you were the one begging.”
“Ashley! Don’t be cruel! Mom’s kneeling! Have
you no decency?” Britney snarled.
<
I glanced at Mom. “This is nothing. I knelt in
the snow for three hours.”
Mom flinched. I smiled. “Remember? You cut
off my cards, threw me out, ignored my
pleas.”
I turned to Britney, who looked confused. “I’m
being much kinder now, aren’t I?”
Mom’s composure cracked. I saw a flash of
hatred in her eyes.
“I wondered why my own mother could be so
cruel, like I wasn’t her daughter.”
I crouched, meeting Mom’s eyes. “You knew
all along, didn’t you? I wasn’t yours.”
