She could hardly believe it at first, that she, Linda Williams, actress and performer extraordinaire, was sat at home with the baby. Watching daytime soap operas, old monotone movies and cookery shows with energetic toothy hosts grinning at her, as if mocking her inferiority – her failure.

At first, she'd went through various stages denial within her busy mind - denying the child was hers, declaring that she had no duty to it, it was her husband's baby, he wanted it, not her. But Robert had taken her to counselling, and she' sat through the droning lectures and speeches given by Doctor Fielding, telling her how it was perfectly normal to feel resentment at such a time.

But he couldn't understand. No one could understand how Linda felt toward her little baby girl, who all cooed at and admired apart from her mother. The mother totally possessed of boundless dislike for her own child.

At the time when baby Sarah was three months old, Linda could safely say it was one of the most disturbed, frustrating and tearful stages of her life. At first she'd just tried avoiding responsibility. She would leave the babe as she cried, refusing to feed her, change her, but she soon learned the vocal horror and the malicious whispers such neglect resulted in. She saw the neighbours watch her in the garden, sunning herself, music blaring as the baby wailed in the background. It was as if they'd struck gold in suburbia, the literal mine of gossip worthy dregs of a life she was providing them with.


At sixth months, Sarah and was attempting to crawl, exploring merrily the crevices and nooks of the large house that the Williams family now occupied, much to Linda's constant frustration and attempts to stop Sarah from mortally wounding herself on her pride and joy - her chrome plated exercise bike.

Linda had insisted on moving, a new start she'd said, they'd needed to get away from that pokey terrace, the malicious neighbours who dealt in nothing but poison. She'd told Robert repeatedly, and he had caved in to her constant repeated nagging. The new house was beautiful, large, whitewashed, it even had a garage, a huge dining room, even a reception area – perfect for Linda's constant flurry of entertaining.

Linda may have been trapped in the home by the bonds of motherhood, but she didn't let that stop her mingling. Her parties were famous in the locality - for their excess and extravagance. Wine flowed unceasingly, laughter and gaiety were a constant of that house, though the sincerity of such happiness was questionable. The people who came rarely knew her, but she would speak with them as if they were intimate companions, confiding in them her secrets fears and desires – just as they would confide theirs in her.


When Sarah was a year old, Linda had had enough of the responsibility, could bear it no longer. She'd looked on the play then, scanned over the words that had so scared her grandmother, eyes feasting on their power. She wasn't sure why, but she did not recite the words that would of relieved her of her burden, unconsciously, she was scared of just what they had the potential to do. She put the book aside, deciding she would find other, far more grounded means to rid her of the numbing, restricting responsibility. So she went to her husband, begging to be allowed a nanny, an au pair, anything to help lessen the ceaseless work the baby created.

Upon being told she could not have a nanny for the child, she grew angry, her voice steadily rising as she spoke, "and why not? You're so cruel, you want to keep me chained to this, this, prison, taking care of the baby like a good little housewife. I'm not going to do it any more y' know!"

"Look sweetie, you know it's not because of that, it;s not that at all, we already have the cleaner and she -"

"She what? Charges two dollars an hour? That's hardly gonna break the bank! I mean come on, it's hardly like your short on cash right now, you've got it coming out of your ears with your job at daddie's firm." She spoke the word with a specially selected sneer. She'd hated her in laws since day one, since they'd asked her where her parents where in a tone so condescending and mocking it made her blood rise till she blushed. She didn't however, mind that her father-in-law provided her husband with an extremely well paid managerial position.

"I earned that job off my own back!"

"You must be joking! Before your dad gave you that job you could use your head for one thing – soccer tackles!" This argument continued for some time. After Linda began the screaming, the large doe eyes, and the tears, he could hold back his agreement no longer, and she got her way – the au pair started the next week.


When Sarah was two, Linda met Jeremy.

Free from Sarah's infant dependence on her, Linda began enjoying life once more. She began auditioning once again, and although unable to get back into the TV work she so desperately craved, her agent was able to present her with roles in some relatively large-scale productions of the plays of Shakespeare, plays Linda had loved and revered since her childhood.

She was out of practice, it was undeniable, and so in many ways it was lucky she was cast with the role of Hero in Much Ado About Nothing. Hero being an integral character who speaks roughly a dozen lines in the entire play – consequently a role in need of no greater talent than a pretty face. It was a wonderful feeling to feel the curtains go up, to be on the stage once more, seeing all admire and revere her, for if nothing else, her beauty and radiance.

It also meant she could truly begin to enjoy the company of her daughter. She'd never truly hated the child, and in her own way, she loved her. Her love had forever been stifled by the necessities of her role, the endless feeding and changing. But she was given time to love her with her freedom, to take her about the town and pretty her as she had always wished. She enjoyed buying things for her, brought her beautiful little dresses that sparkled with gorgeous puffed skirts and spangles. As a result, the baby was often taken around town looking more akin to a miniature extra in a lavish production of A Midsummer Night's Dream as opposed to a sweet but otherwise unremarkable child.

Linda had impressed the company with her performance, her beauty and her charm, and as a result – she won the leading female part in the companies next production, Anthony and Cleopatra. In all probability she got the part because of her dark exotic looks. She looked stunning in the elaborate make up and the bejewelled robes, took the breathe away of all who saw her – her husband didn't recognise her until she spoke, for no one could mistake that voice, the power and command it exercised over the audience.

Another man was sat caught rapt in the audience, Jeremy King. He was good friends with the director, a well established figure of some repute in the theatre world, and had been invited to see the performance, as the director knew well that Shakespeare's tragedies were a favoured area of interest for Jeremy.

Now, Jeremy was a successful man, a well-established classical actor with years of experience and a hordes of devoted admirers and critics who pandered to call him friend, but did not know him to any degree of depth or intimacy. Few knew how very changeable and distracted he was, constantly searching for something new, a new source of excitement in a life that despite the glamour and the glitz was an endless bore for him.

He'd been indifferent at first, at the beginning, blindly anticipating another poor mime of the bard's mastery. But then he'd seen her, Linda, was struck by her beauty, her power, her charm, and was caught in it. He could totally loose himself in the play he himself had performed to the point that he knew it by rote, she made it come alive for him.

He'd clapped up a storm for the curtain call, stood to gain a better view, she'd heard him, through all the busy crowds and the spectacle, and taken a glance up to his raised box, and she'd smiled. A dazzling, beautiful smile. She hadn't known what she was doing with that one glance, had no idea how far it was to take her.


When Sarah was three and half years of age, her mother found love again.

Linda and Robert had been drifting apart for some time at this time, were nearing breaking point. He no longer saw the lively, charming girl he had been so taken in by, just a coldly beautiful woman, driven by a blind desire for fame and success, neglecting all else. The whole idea of their break down in relations distressed him, and he tried desperately to make it work. He took her out, many times on expensive meals, to the opera, in his desperation - for walks in the fragrant air of the park just yards from their home. But nothing appealed to her any more, she looked vague and distant despite all his efforts. He didn't know it was because she was totally lost in the thought of another.

She still loved Sarah, that was sure, loved her more than ever before. She took pleasure in reading to her, often reciting to her the lines of a little red bound book she had brought with her from her grandmother's house. Linda would alter her voice for each role, pitching it high and feminine for the brave, tireless princess, and deep and booming to reflect the all penetrating power and majesty of the Goblin King.

As Sarah grew older, more active, more aware of her surroundings and the people surrounding her, Linda grew to love her more dearly, for she was forming her own little independent shades of character. She was so like her mother, even in the beginning, enjoying her little dress ups and fantasies just as much as her mother pinned all her hopes and dreams on her future as an actress, dreams of success and reveration.

There was good reason behind Linda's distance. After the performance, Jeremy had ran, literally ran, to the florists near-by, that anticipated such love-struck displays of expense and kept the doors open at the ready. He purchased the largest, most opulent bouquet of crimson roses they possessed and bolted back to place it in her hands personally, to shake her hand, congratulate her on what he referred to as a 'captivating performance.' He gave her a slight smile at the remark, many would of mistaken it for a sneer, but Linda knew differently, and smiled coyly in return.

They had no contact for a year afterwards. It was only when they met once more, that she discovered he'd learned she was married, very much taken, and he had only returned when she seeked him.

It was near impossible to find him, for he was a secretive man, something of a recluse who more wished to immerse himself in the content of the plays he performed than reality, and she only put in such effort when she discovered who he was. She'd been taken aback when she'd heard his name, a name she had heard spoken with holy veneration many times, cursed herself for not trying harder, for not keeping his attention a while longer. She'd been entranced by him but not compelled to go further than a greeting, for despite him being striking, enigmatically handsome, she had never for a moment considered what the man stood before her had to offer.

Her agent had found him for her, tracked down the elusive address from her chain of contacts, and had urged her on, she saw the wealth of publicity such a scandal would result in. He lived in an apartment in Manhattan. Not remotely near Linda – but she didn't care, she took the plane, payed for with her husband's money. She told him she was going to see her cousin, when she had none - she cared enough for him to withhold the truth.

She'd become apprehensive at the sight of his door, his apartment was huge, occupied a whole floor of the tower block. It was ridiculously overdone, the door having a knocker in the shape of a lion's head, it was a heavy ugly thing, and it took great effort from her, tired with hours of walking the endless streets of the city to lift it and create the call.

She'd feared he wouldn't be there, had feared he'd open the door and look on her as a stranger, have no recollection of she who had so intrigued him. But no such fears were realised. The door was opened and he'd just stared at her transfixed for a while, as if looking on a ghost – or a goddess.

He'd invited her in, overcoming his shock and surprise at seeing her fast resuming the smoothness and integrity his position demanded, showing her to a chair, sweeping away the piles of tottering paperwork from the seat to make the room for her to seat herself.

They'd chatted a while, amiably, as if old friends catching up on long-forgotten times, no one would think the two had had little more than a glance across a crowded hall. She was hopelessly confident and sure of herself, introducing herself as if a star of huge significance and standing. Jeremy had surprised her with his impeccable manners his politeness, his chivalry, it was as if he truly was one of the dashing lords he so often played on the stage. He wasn't like the others to her then, he showed respect, displayed interest in the Linda beneath the beautiful face, something Linda appreciated more than she could ever truly express.

They spoke the whole evening, the time passing before either noticed, they found just how much they had in common, interests, likes, dislikes, and as almost a natural progression from their fast-formed friendship - a common love for each other.

Jeremy had asked her of her family before they kissed for the first of many times that evening, she'd looked vaguely guilty, ashamed that he knew, but she'd regained her form. Told him she was leaving – it was all only a matter of time.

And she was to be proven right.


Not long after Sarah celebrated her forth birthday, Linda left.

Their romance had been a literally whirlwind. It had taken Linda aback, she thought she knew luxury and extravagance but her much talked of events seemed little more than tea parties in comparison to the life Jeremy offered to her. Champagne, fashion shows, world tours, he held it all before her, it was overpowering, the life of which she'd always dreamed – it was finally hers to claim. And yet she found herself deterring, avoiding the inevitable marital collapse, and all because of Sarah.

She'd learned to love her in those four short years, learned to love her more dearly than any other. She wanted to be a good mother, she truly did, but the day before she left, she'd looked in the mirror, and had seen just how incapable she was of being any sort of a mother to her little girl, she knew that Sarah deserved better than what she could offer her. She looked into her wide, apprehensive eyes and knew she wasn't a good enough person to sacrifice her happiness for her child's, a happiness she couldn't guarantee to fulfil even if she sacrificed her own. And it hurt, more painfully than what any promises of future happiness could compensate for.

Robert knew, he couldn't not know. Jeremy was a famous man, their photos were in the glossy rags the like of which are pored and exclaimed over worldwide. It made him rage to see her flaunting her undeserved freedom at him. He'd cried to her, just as she'd cried back telling him how sorry she was, of how she was sorry for the years he'd wasted with her, because she'd always known he would never be enough. He slapped her in his outrage, leaving a red streak across her beautiful, perfectly made-up face, asked her how she could dare to say such a thing, when the whole congregation had witnessed the depth of her happiness at their wedding. She could say nothing.

He'd shouted louder as she ran up the stairs, packing her bags with a deathly restrictive silence. She performed mechanically, and it felt strange to her, that the day she had no dreamed of was bringing her nothing but tumultuous pain. She barely heard Robert as his shouting grew yet louder, threats more menacing and hurtful. She winced when he shouted, near screamed, that he would never be allowed to see her daughter again, if she was leaving him, she was leaving Sarah. She said not a word. She was afraid she'd be unable to carry it through if she allowed her weakness to shatter her so very beautiful voice, for her fear to consume her uncontrollably.

Her last action before leaving, never to return, was to kiss her daughter on the head as she slept in the midst of her rainbow streaked covers and blankets, slipping the little red book into her child's unfurled hands.

Her job was done, role fulfilled, and she'd walked away – left forever, left for Jeremy.


Thank-you very much for reviewing the last chapter everyone, it is very much appreciated. I am sorry it;s taken so long to get another chapter up, but I've had lot's of other commitments recently.

I hope you enjoy it, and please, please review, it really spurs me to continue, as there is only one chapter left now!