The day the SAT scores came out, my mother took me to the city where my father worked.
She walked into his office practically glowing.
"Rachel Barnes scored a 678. I heard that family members of Whitmore faculty can apply for a special—"
"Melanie Shepherd."
He cut her off, cold.
"The SATs are about fairness. If Rachel wants into Whitmore, she earns it herself."
"You can't use the fact that I'm a professor here to pull strings and hand her a shortcut."
My mother froze.
The eyes that turned toward us at the sound burned the color into her face.
I stood behind her and caught sight of the form lying on his desk. A special-admissions application.
The name line read Viola Dickerson, in my father's handwriting.
Viola was the daughter of my father's first love.
My mother saw it too.
Her lips moved. She forced out a thin smile.
"Let's talk about it at home."
He suddenly stood and caught her hand.
"Wait."
Under the hope in her eyes, he spoke slowly.
"Sarah Dickerson and Vi are staying at my place these few days. It's not convenient for you to come."
"Take Rachel and check into a hotel."
The smile slid off my mother's face for good.
Without a word she pulled her arm out of his grip and led me away.
He sat back down at his desk as if nothing had happened.
Out in the hall, she took the divorce papers from her bag, the pages already yellowed at the edges.
Tears stood in her eyes, but her gaze only hardened.
...
We stood at the door of the city apartment.
She entered the code twice. The system blared an error both times.
On the third try.
"Door unlocked."
She didn't move.
The hand frozen in the air closed into a fist, the knuckles going faintly white.
"860205."
I saw it clearly.
That woman's birthday.
That number was a nightmare my mother and I shared.
February 5th, eight years ago.
My father was driving me and my mother, five months pregnant, to a prenatal checkup.
Then Sarah called, and he ordered us out of the car.
"Sarah's got an emergency. I have to go to her."
The moment he started the engine, the clear sky broke open into pouring rain.
My mother ran after him, calling his name.
"Gav! It's raining! At least drop us at the hospital first!"
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
The car didn't stop. It only sped up.
Then a car came tearing down the road, jumped the curb, and my right leg was dragged under the wheel.
I lay on the ground and watched my mother thrown into the air, then slammed back down onto the pavement.
That day my mother lost the baby inside her.
And I lost my right leg.
And Sarah's so-called emergency was nothing more than wanting my father to spend her birthday with her.
The door was suddenly yanked open. Sarah's voice came simpering through.
"Gav, why aren't you coming in yet?"
She was wearing my mother's silk nightgown.
Our eyes met, and the smile vanished from Sarah's face.
"Melanie. What are you doing here?"
My mother let out a cold laugh.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"
She took my hand and walked past Sarah into the apartment.
On the wall above the couch, where the wedding photo used to hang, there was now a portrait of Sarah and her daughter.
The tablecloth my mother had chosen herself had been thrown on the floor like a rag.
We walked into the master bedroom.
Clothes were heaped all over the bay window seat, some my mother's, some Sarah's.
My mother pressed her lips together, turned, and walked toward my room.
The desk that used to be neat was now buried under cosmetics.
