“My Junior screwed me over and I spent their whole lives showin’ my kids how much I loved their father, through the good times and the bad, standin’ at his side, and they knew he did that to me?” She shook her head and kept going. “And after I pushed them out and wiped their asses and blew their snotty noses and cleaned up their puke and loved on them at every opportunity and dropped everything the minute they needed me, and I had a time in my life where I needed a little understanding and they bailed on me?” she asked then answered her own question. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Josie touched my knee and I looked her way. “She’s right, of a sort. But I believe you should give them some time.”

“I am,” I told her.

“That’s good,” she said softly.

I couldn’t keep looking at her because I had fingers wrapped around my chin, forcing me to look back at Alyssa.

“You give them time. And you fight for your family. But,” she forced my face to look in the mirror and dropped her hand, “that isn’t a miracle, Amelia. That’s us doin’ what we can to remind you of what was already there. You walk outta of here not believing in what we believe, not seein’ what we see, not thinkin’ your kids should open their eyes and see the same thing, then all is already lost. You deserve to be happy. You deserve the people in your life that love you to want the same thing for you. But it’s you that’s gotta go out and find it. To prove to them you’re worth it. To explain to them that you always knew that in your heart. That you deserve to be treated right, loved right, that you’re worth it. And you may have gone a couple of extra miles too far in sharing that, but you’re back to you and now you expect to get what you give.”

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I didn’t know if I saw what they saw.

I did know that I didn’t look anything but like me.

My hair was great. My makeup was awesome.

But all that was what Alyssa said.

It was me.

Not a new and improved me.

Just me.

With fantastic highlights and expertly shaded makeup.

“I’m buying you both a Porsche,” I declared.

Alyssa burst out laughing and Josie did the same, except not as loud.

“I already have one, sweetheart,” Josie said when her laughter died down.

“I don’t. And I don’t want no Cayenne. Turbo. Black,” Alyssa put in.

I turned and grinned at her, knowing she was joking and still wishing she’d let me buy her a Porsche.

But I’d do something else.

I’d do what she wanted me to do.