Anita's POV
It was her. She was a little thinner than I remembered, and her cheeks were bruised and hollow. Her hair was duller and tangled, and she was over all filthy from having been kept prisoner, but it was her...
Yet despite her hagard appearance, she looked at me so affectionately. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that this was the same woman who raised me. That the distant, hateful woman wasn't the real her.
She slowly reached through the bars to chip my face and gently brushed the tears from my eyes.
"My sweet, brave girl." she whispered, and I felt the burn in my eyes as more tears flowed. How long had I wished she would be this loving and kind to me? How many times had I mourned that she didn't? But that wasn't her fault, and I couldn't hold it against her. Afte
