Celia Fordham and Raymond Fordham rushed straight to Joanna’s side.
Lately, Joanna had made a point of keeping them in her apartment under the pretense that it was closer to school and more convenient. Somewhere along the way, the kids had stopped calling her “Aunt Joanna” and started referring to her as their godmother.
Celia found “godmother” a mouthful, though, and just called her “Mom.”
Before long, Raymond picked up the habit, too.
Sanderson could only look on in disbelief as both children ran to Joanna. He wondered if he’d misheard, or if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
“Celia, Raymond, what did you just call her?“.
Sanderson had spent most of his life overseas; the children barely remembered him. Occasionally, they’d recognize him from a video call.
“Grandpa, Miss Joanna is our godmother,” Raymond explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Celia jumped in, her voice eager. “She’s really good to us! That’s why she’s our mom
now!”
“Nonsense!” Sanderson snapped, turning on Dahlia. “The kids are too young to understand, but you? How could you let them call some random woman ‘Mom‘?!”
Dahlia bristled, embarrassed. “How was I supposed to know? If your precious daughter–in–law actually spent time at home, there wouldn’t have been an opportunity for an actress to worm her way in!”
Their argument quickly dragged Celestine back into the spotlight.
Suddenly, Raymond noticed his birth mother, weak and pale in a hospital gown.
“Mom! You’re awake!” He darted to Celestine’s bedside, his face lighting up with joy. He’d overheard Joanna’s call a few days ago and had learned that his parents had been in a car crash. He’d worried himself sick. He and Celia had visited the hospital once, but their parents had been in such bad shape that he hadn’t even been allowed to see Celestine.
He and his sister had been terrified–Joanna was the one who comforted them,
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promising to look after them if their parents never woke up.
That was the first time Celia had burst into tears and called Joanna “Mom.”
Raymond had wanted to object–it didn’t feel right. But seeing his sister so heartbroken, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. When she pleaded with him, he’d reluctantly followed her lead.
And now, today of all days…
He never expected his real mother would be here, awake.
Raymond’s stomach knotted with regret. He desperately hoped she hadn’t heard
him call Joanna “Mom” during the commotion. But his silent prayer went
unanswered.
Celestine’s gaze lingered on him for a brief moment before shifting to Joanna. “Your mother is over there,” she said, her tone cold and unfamiliar.
Tears welled in Raymond’s eyes. He wanted to say, “No, that’s not true. Miss Joanna isn’t my mom.” But the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come out.
Memories flashed through his mind, and the tears spilled down his cheeks, one
after another.
“Mom, please don’t leave me,” he pleaded, reaching out to embrace Celestine.
She pulled away, avoiding his touch. Pain flickered across his face, frozen in place.
Celestine looked at her once sweet little boy. Pretending she wasn’t hurt would have been a lie. When she heard him call Joanna “Mom,” she realized just how much it still mattered to her.
Dahlia couldn’t bear to see her grandson so distraught. She stepped forward and gathered Raymond into her arms.
“Don’t call her ‘Mom‘! She’s not your mother! She’s the one who hurt your dad–she nearly killed him! And now she wants to hurt you, too!”
Dahlia shot a venomous glare at Celestine.
Raymond shook his head, sobbing. No, it wasn’t true. His mother was hurt badly, too. She wasn’t a murderer.
Celia, nestled in Joanna’s embrace, deliberately raised her voice. “Miss Selwyn, please leave! You almost killed my dad. None of us want to see you here!”
Celestine glanced at her youngest, icy and distant–a single “Miss Selwyn” severing
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whatever was left of their bond as mother and daughter.
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