"I am not your Mother."

“I am not your mother.”

The tone of her words was confusing to Anne. Regret and relief mixed together like they could never really be separate. Coffee and cream, like she used to say. Anne shifted in her seat, listening to the angry shouting outside, the mob that drove them into hiding, that was out for their blood. When she said nothing, the woman who had pretended to be her mother spoke again, and the girl had a feeling that she didn’t like the silence.

“Edith Noone died when you were a baby. My name is Karen Miller. I took Edith’s place because the Organization needed someone to look after you until you were old enough to go into training.”

Training? Organization? Anne felt very small and young, and not at all ready to deal with the mob that raged outside the door. Her mom - Karen, she corrected herself. Karen looked at her nervously.

“Anne, hon, say something. I know you’ve got to be practically exploding with questions. You always are.”

But Anne didn’t feel like asking questions. She felt more like she was drowning in a sea of raucous emotions and confusing, overwhelming concepts. She opened her mouth, thinking that maybe if she could let some of the pressure off, then the roiling, sick feeling in her stomach might lessen. In another part of the house, glass shattered, and Karen twitched, eyeing the door as if it might launch itself across the room and attack them. Someone was in the house now, smashing things and yelling incoherently.

Where Anne’s mind had been mired down and floundering before, now it sped up almost unbearably. This woman had lied to her. Lied to everyone. There were others - this “Organization” - that wanted to control her. Her mother had worked for them? Maybe. Maybe not. But she’d never known her real mother, so that was no matter. Maybe they even killed her. That thought was oddly comforting. It justified what she was about to do.

“Do they hate you, or do they hate the Organization?” she asked, her voice firm, but quiet. Karen looked like she was about to jump out of her skin, having apparently resigned herself to silence.

“Oh. Uh… well, I think it’s mostly the Organization. I’ve never done anything to them.”

“Tell me why.”

“What?”

“Tell me why they hate the Organization.”

“Hon, it’s a long story, and I don’t think right now’s the best-”

“Tell me why they hate the Organization, or I’ll open that door and scream.” Anne pointed unnecessarily at the only door, and Karen turned white.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, but she was trying too hard to convince herself. Anne stood up. With a hiss of fear, Karen grabbed her adopted daughter’s hand. “Alright, alright. Please, Anne, just sit down and don’t do anything rash. I’ll explain.”

Anne sat again. Maybe she was in shock, but it was strange how easy it was to distance herself from this woman who, until a few minutes ago, she’d always believed was her mother.