Lyra
My chest rose and fell as I stared at the screen, waiting for Mother to answer the puppet’s question. But she just stood frozen.
Instead of answering, she cried. Broken and messy sobs tore out of her, and they should have sounded like the cries of a woman torn apart at the thought of losing her child but they didn’t. Her sobs weren’t cries of love. They were the sobs of a coward, of someone who didn’t want to take responsibility for the choice forced upon her.
Someone who’d rather hide than face reality.
“Choose, Mom,” Evelyn screeched. “Pick me! You know I’ve always loved you, always cared for you. I’m your daughter too. Please.”
Her cries were desperate. But beneath the thinly veiled pleas, I noticed something else. Evelyn wasn’t crying because she was afraid Mother wouldn’t c
