ARIANA
My mom didn’t let go of me. She kept hugging me, like if she let go, I’d disappear again. I held her too, my arms wrapped tightly around her. I could smell her scent—warm and sweet, like home. I didn’t even care that my tears were everywhere on her clothes.
“I thought you were dead,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
She pulled back just enough to hold my face in her hands. Her eyes were red and shiny. “I know, baby. I know. I’m so sorry.”
“I was told you died giving birth to me,” I said, my voice shaking. “Everyone said that. Father said that.”
She looked down for a moment, her hands trembling. Then she helped me stand up and led me to a small couch in the corner of the room. I sat beside her, still wiping my tears. My heart was beating too fast.
“I didn’t die, Ariana,” she sai
