The Cages You Build

Chapter Twelve~Home

•Some wounds are physical and obvious. Other wounds are secret and hidden so deep that no one but God sees them~Francine Rivers•

Cold wind slapped Mia in the face as she stepped out of the taxi. She stood for a long moment on the curb, giving her eyes time to adjust to the pre-dawn light.

The neighborhood was still and silent and for a frozen moment in time, it looked like nothing had changed. If she looked to the right, she would see the recreational park and hear the sound of children playing. The laughter. The street sign was still chipped at the bottom left corner.

And to her left, on plot no. 16, was the old Wilson residence.

Stanley. The semi-sleepy town she'd grown up in.

She was going to be sick.

Mia hitched up her bag and took a step forward. If she didn't give herself time to change her mind, she would be able to do this. Swallowing a large ball of saliva, she walked faster until she reached the front door and pressed her index finger into the doorbell. She pressed it again after a second. And again.

Mother would be awake by now.

God, I can't believe I'm about to do this.

She couldn't get any lower than this. She'd crept out of David's house at past five, knowing he was an early riser. Finding a taxi at that time had been a little difficult but luck must have been on her side. She didn't have to wait long.

Now she was here and any minute, she was going to vomit.

The door opened and the rehearsed greeting died on her lips. A young lady in her twenties looked her up and down, her head titled to the side.

"May I help you?"

Mia remained silent for a good amount of time, letting her mind adjust to the image in front of her. The lady was beautiful; slender and shapely. A pert nose and brown, almond-shaped eyes were set in an oval face.

She'd been expecting her mother's stoic face. Not this.

"Where's my mother?" she blurted.

The girl frowned, reaching out a hand to touch the right side of the doorframe, subtly blocking the entrance. "And who is your mother?"

"Mrs. Taylor."

"Oh." Her hand dropped from the doorframe. "I didn't know. She forgot to mention you were coming." Her face took on a quick smile. "Nice to meet you."

Not returning the sentiment, Mia took a step inside, allowing the girl to shut the door behind her.

"My name is Angela." She paused, obviously expecting a reply. When she received none, she rolled on the balls of her feet. "And you are?"

None of your business. "Mia." She looked her in the eye. "Do you live here now?"

"I'm your mother's housekeeper."

"Housekeeper," she said. This girl didn't look anything like a housekeeper. Typical. Even mother's housekeeper had to look like a Chris Hemsworth and Angelina Jolie love-child.

"Yes." She gave a light laugh. "I think it's just an excuse for her to have some company."

If Mia wanted to be petty, she'd say her mother coached this girl beforehand. The pinprick of guilt she felt was a surprise. Mother wasn't even here yet and she was feeling guilty already. Marvelous.

"You can come in," Angela said, when Mia remained in the hall, apparently staring at nothing.

"I'll be in in a moment."