MARIA REYES
The knock on the hotel room door came exactly when I expected it. I took one last look around the cheap room, made sure the bed looked slept-in, the cheap flowers I’d bought were placed dramatically on the nightstand, and the lighting was low enough to make me look tired and pitiful. Perfect.
I smoothed down my cheap blouse, practiced my remorseful expression in the mirror one more time, and opened the door. There she stood. Isabella. My daughter looked… different. Too different. The fitted dress hugged her figure in a way that made my stomach twist with envy and disgust. Her hair was styled, her makeup subtle but expensive-looking. She even carried herself differently; straighter, like she thought she belonged in this world now.
Stupid girl.
I put on my best humble-mother
