Stellina

Fragmented Glass

Lina found her leaning against the windowsill, whole bottle of wine tipped to her lips. Numbing the pain too, not caring where either of her two daughters were. Or at least, trying not to care. Lina ran her fingers through her matted hair, taking one glare at her mother and then slamming her bedroom door shut.

Only forty-eight more hours would she have to crawl under that threadbare blanket. Forty-eight more hours would she have to hear the smashing of a wine bottle in the sink. And then she'd be gone.

All too soon, a pounding from the door roused her from her thoughts. "Lina, we need to talk," her mother shouted. Lina sighed, ignoring the slosh of wine, feet trudging against the splintering floor as she creaked open the door. Mama stormed in, a whirlwind of stale wine and sweat aromas trailing after her. Dark circles ate at her eyes, wrinkles burying deeper into her skin.

Lina bit her lip, feeling a fresh stream of blood pool in her mouth. "Mama, how do you know Byron? Tell me the truth. I mean it, or I'm going to them tonight," she said.

"Lina, it's complicated. I don't want to get into it tonight, not when these might be my last few moments with you." She crept in closer, leaning in for a maternal embrace. "It's nice to hear you speak again," she whispered. Lina jerked away, the glare sparking in her irises again. She'd had her chance to be a good mother, to love them. It was too late now.

"Is he your friend? Was he your friend?"

"You could say that, yes." Her eyes were glued to the floor, perhaps on the splintering crack that sliced through the middle.

Lina swallowed as the image of raven-colored hair and gentle hazel eyes drifted into her mind. "Just like you were friends with Helain?" she asked, her voice a low growl.

A shaky chuckle penetrated the air: uncertain and unnerving. "So you saw the letter," she whispered, a nervous laugh still in her voice. "It got torn up when our apartment was damaged. I suppose you found the scrap with her name on it, too."

Lina narrowed her eyes. She snatched her mother's flimsy explanations out of the air. "Who's Stella." It was a command, not a question. "Does she live nearby? Is she a friend of yours too? Tell me, Mama. Where is she?"

She could hear her mother swallow that familiar lump of fear that Lina felt all too often in her throat. She saw her shift her weight uncomfortably between her feet, saw her pale irises on the edge of glistening with salty tears. For once, it was Lina who got to witness it, to feel the fury boil in her veins.

"I guess you'll find out soon enough," she whispered, her voice quavering. "I just didn't want to be the one to tell you. To see your reaction."

Lina's heart skipped a beat. She sucked in her breath, waiting for the words to tumble out of her mouth. "What?" she croaked.

Mama dug her fingers in her pocket, fishing out a broken locket. A thread of moonlight caught it, blinding her. There it was. The thing she had been desperately searching for for many months. Yet when it lay draped in her hands, two hearts split apart, it was empty. Until Mama handed her a minuscule, crumpled sheet of paper. She quickly devoured the words.

Stellina "Lina" Fontaine

456 Rue des Cerisiers

Lourmarin, Provence, France

For an instant, Lina felt as if her heart had stopped entirely. "Why are you giving me my old address? Mama?" The air was being sucked from her throat, the room swallowing her in its feisty, cruel waves. "This must be a mistake. We're looking for Stella, Mama."

"He wanted you to go by Stella. I always preferred Lina. Liked the ring to it better."

Lina crumpled into a heap on the bed. "You're lying," she whispered, unable to fight back the tears any longer. "It's not even possible. I have a father, and he's not Byron." She sank deeper into the mattress, her brain a whirlwind of thoughts.