She enters her apartment, only to realize that she's not alone. She creeps down the hall. She walks past her bedroom. She stops in the doorway of another room, and just listens. She hears breathing, and she flips on the light. She finds a lump underneath the covers of the bed. She sits down on the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" she questions.

"Leave me alone, I'm sleeping," the body under the covers answers.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at school."

"But I'm not," she points out as she holds the covers securely over her head.

"I can see that," she looks at the suitcase next to the door, "I want to know why."

"That's a good question."

"Stop playing games and tell me why you're not in school. Did you get expelled?"

"No."

"So then what are you doing home? They sent you home for a reason."

"I know that it's an inconvenience for me to be here, but it's your fault I'm here."

"That's right, I did bring you into this world."

"Not what I meant. It's your fault I'm in here, in bed, right now."

"How?"

"You forgot to send tuition," she answers.

"No. I mailed the tuition weeks before it was due."

"They never got it."

"So they just kicked you out, just like that?"

"No. They sent you letters, and they called, but you never responded. They gave you six weeks to respond, but you never did."

She thinks back, "I remember putting the check in the envelope. Then... I got a phone call, and I completely forgot to mail it. I'm sure it's still sitting on the counter."

"That's responsible parenting."

"I'm sorry. I'll send them the check, and you can go back."

"Mom, I don't want to go back."

"Why not?"

"Can't I just stay here?"

"Now is not a good time."

"Please. You won't even know I'm here."

"I'll know you're here."

"I've been home six hours, you just now got home. In an hour you'll be asleep. Then you'll get up in the morning and go to work..."

"Why do you want to stay with me? It's boring here."

"I don't have many options. It's here, or boarding school. I don't have a father I can run off to."

"You have one," she corrects.

"I just don't know who he is, because you refuse to tell me."

"It's not important."

"Do you even know who my father is?"

"Why would you even ask that?"

"It's a valid question."

"You're twelve, you shouldn't be asking those sorts of questions."

"I'll be thirteen in two months."

"You still shouldn't be asking those sorts of questions."

"Why do you care anyway? You're not interested in my life. Why do you care what questions I ask?"

"I'm sorry that I haven't been the best mother."

"So am I."

"I don't think that it's a good idea for you to stay here."

"Why not? Will it get in the way of your love life?"

"I'm going to ignore that because you're my child, and I'd like to see you live another day. I don't think that it's a good idea for you to stay here because..."

"Because no one knows about me. I've heard all of this before. Why haven't you ever told anyone? Are you ashamed of me?"

"That's not it."

"So then what is it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Not if you don't explain it."

"I don't want to have this conversation with you again."

"So what about the one where you tell me who my father is."

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"I have a right to know."

"I'll tell you when you're eighteen."

"Tell me now, and you can ship me off to live with him. Isn't that one of your favorite things to do, anyway?"

"I want you to have the best education possible. I want you to have the opportunities that I never had."

"Save it, mom. You do fine."

"But I've had to fight for every bit of it."

"Nothing in life comes easy, or free."

"That's true."

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're fighting for the wrong things?"

"What is this really about?"

"Nothing."

"I know that you don't understand why I sent you to boarding school, but one day you'll thank me for it."

"Will I? Are you glad you were shipped off to boarding school? It's character building, but..."

"I know that it's not easy. I know that you miss me."

"Do you miss me?"

"Of course I do. What kind of question is that? I'm your mother."

"Are you sure? It's hard to remember sometimes. I've been being raised in another country, by other people since I was six. Before that I remember seeing a whole lot of my nanny. I don't ever remember seeing very much of you. You're always busy with work, or parties, or anything else that interests you. Anything but me."

"It's hard to get away. I'd like to see you more, but I can't."

"Can't, or won't? You didn't visit on Christmas, or Easter, last year you didn't even come for my birthday. I'm beginning to wonder if you even know when my birthday is."

"Of course I do. How could I forget?"

"You didn't even send me a card."

"I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"I just want the truth."

"What truth would that be?"

"Why did you have me if you didn't want me?"

"I do want you."

"Really, because it doesn't feel like it. You'd think that you would have learned your lesson the first time, but apparently you didn't. If you want me to go back I'll go back," she answers as she stares at the wall.

Wilhelmina pulls the covers away from her face. She pulls the long waves of copper hair out of the girl's face. She wipes the tears off her warm reddened cheeks. She kisses her on the forehead.

"Sit up!" she demands.

The girl complies. She crosses her arms, and stares at her mother in contempt. Without any warning Wilhelmina wraps her arms around her. "You're not going anywhere," she tells her.

"But you hate me."

"I don't hate you. One day you'll understand."

"I don't think so," she disagrees, pushing Wilhelmina away.

"I'm just trying to protect you," she admits.

"From what?"

"From getting hurt," she answers.