Rita's Point Of View
My mother stayed right there, her knees pressed hard against the polished hardwood floor, looking up at me as though I held the keys to her very salvation. Her hands remained tightly clasped, her expensive silk shoulders trembling with every ragged breath she drew.
"No, please stand up," I said, my voice cracking slightly despite my best efforts to keep it locked down behind a wall of pure iron. The sight of her kneeling before me felt wrong… a reversal of power that brought me no satisfaction, only a hollow ache.
Matilda shook her head frantically, more tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks, obliterating whatever dignity she had left. "No, Rita. No. I won't get up. Not until you hear me. I'm so sorry. Please, let's just start over again," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I'm really, truly sorry, baby. Please forgive me."
