I glanced behind me and caught Elena’s eye after I told a woman I couldn’t sign her boob. There was silent laughter in her eyes as she winked at me. The line of fans suddenly seemed endless.

I reached a young woman who hugged me as she said, “I’m so sorry about your mom.”

My stomach dropped, but I wasn’t going to stop and ask her what she meant in front of this many people. I had to cut things short before I reached the end.

I waved to the crowd, thanking them one more time with a forced smile, then a pair of people from Asha’s team ushered us into a waiting car.

I didn’t want to freak Elena out, but I didn’t trust myself to speak until I figured out what was going on. I quickly googled “Alex Chase mom,” terrified I was about to read the worst.

The most recent news articles popped up with an image of my mother in an ambulance, but nothing about what had happened or her current condition.

Elena was watching me closely, but didn’t say anything.

I called my youngest brother, Ryan, but he didn’t pick up. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins and I felt completely helpless.

Just as I was about to call my other brother, Zane, Ryan texted me. “Mom is fine. She was on a ladder and fell and hurt her shoulder. They’re running tests now. Will keep you updated.”

“Goddammit.” I felt Elena tense next to me. She deserved an explanation, but I needed to get ahead of this. Digging into my personal life was one thing, but violating my mother’s privacy was another. She’d be horrified by that picture being public. I couldn’t undo it, but could at least take steps to minimize it, so I called Asha.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, are you two still here?”

“No, we just left. Listen, there’s a picture of my mother in an ambulance online that was taken and shared without her permission. I want it taken down and I want someone held accountable.”

“Oh, honey I’m so sorry. I’m on it. Is she okay?”

“Think so. I’ll let you know when I know more. Thank you.”

“Sorry,” I said, turning to Elena. “My mom fell off a ladder and she’s evidently okay, but hurt her shoulder.”

“And someone posted a picture? That’s awful,” she said.

“Some dickhead took it when she was in an ambulance and sold it to a tabloid.”

Sometimes, I had the illusion of control over what ended up in the media. We could “control the message,” stage photo ops, or avoid places we knew press would be, but at the end of the day everyone was walking around with a camera in their pockets and sometimes greed won out over human decency.

“Do you want to call her?”

“No. They’re running tests right now. I need to send some messages, though.”

She nodded, sitting quietly as I texted back and forth with my brothers, feeling useless. When I put my phone down and let out a deep sigh, she reached over and took my hand without saying anything. Her touch made me feel less alone. She was a steady presence until we got to her house.