Dorinda stood behind Karen, helping her adjust the Muumuu, smoothing out the fabric as Karen groaned. "I'm so tired of these Muumuus," Karen muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
"Well, now that you're pregnant, you'll be wearing them even longer," Mattie chimed in from across the room, her tone sharp and dismissive. Karen and Dorinda both stared at their mother with blank expressions, their patience wearing thin.
The silence was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Jacky, who had been quietly folding some clothes, answered. "Dorinda, it's for you," she called, holding the phone out.
Dorinda sighed, walking over to take it. "Hello?" she said, her voice flat, already dreading who might be on the other end.
"Dorinda, you need to—" Greg's voice filled her ear, but before he could finish, Dorinda slammed the phone down, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Who was that?" Denise asked, watching from where Twinkie was fixing her hair in the mirror.
"Greg," Dorinda muttered under her breath, her tone cold.
"You need to be a better wife to him. He's the man of your household," Mattie scolded, her voice sharp, as though she hadn't just heard her daughter hang up on her husband.
Dorinda's frustration boiled over. "Not by choice!" she snapped, her eyes narrowing in anger. "You decided to sell me off to him before my 14th birthday! He's already done everything—what more can he do? Kill me?" Her voice cracked with irritation, her hormones in full swing. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and all she wanted was to lay down and disappear from the chaos.
Mattie's eyes flashed with disapproval, but she didn't say anything else, instead choosing to turn away from Dorinda, as if the conversation had already been settled. Dorinda finished helping Karen with the Muumuu and slumped into the nearest chair, drained from the effort of holding herself together.
Meanwhile, Denise sat quietly on the other side of the room, zoned out, her thoughts far from the bus and their upcoming performances. She was tired—tired of the constant pressure, tired of their mother's control, and tired of watching her sisters suffer. Denise had been planning to leave the group for a while now, but she hadn't told anyone. She didn't know how, but she was ready to be done with it all.
As Twinkie adjusted the last strand of hair in the mirror, she glanced over at Denise, noticing the faraway look in her eyes. "You alright?" Twinkie asked, raising an eyebrow.
Denise blinked, pulling herself from her thoughts. "Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."
But Denise knew it was more than that. She was thinking of her escape—how to get away from their mother, the suffocating expectations, and the weight of carrying the family name.
-
The sisters stood on stage, the lights beaming down on them as they harmonized, their voices weaving together in perfect unity like they always did. Twinkie was at the organ, her fingers dancing across the keys, bringing the music to life. The crowd was swaying to the gospel, feeling the power and spirit in the room.
Karen stood in the center, holding her mic, but something felt different tonight. As they reached the chorus, her voice rang out—higher pitched than usual. She tried to steady herself, but her breath caught in her throat, and she could feel her nerves creeping in.
Dorinda glanced over, concern etched on her face, but she kept singing, trying not to throw Karen off any more than she already seemed to be. Denise, on the far end, shot Karen a subtle look, her eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't miss a beat either. Twinkie, too, noticed the change in Karen's voice, but she kept playing, hoping her sister would pull through. They had to finish the set—no matter what.
Karen's hand trembled slightly as she gripped the mic tighter, forcing herself to push through the rest of the song. The audience, lost in the music, didn't seem to notice the shift, but on stage, the tension was palpable.
When they finally hit the last note, the crowd erupted in applause, and the sisters offered tight smiles as they waved and stepped off the stage. Karen quickly made her way to the back, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to calm herself down, but her mind was racing.
As soon as they were backstage, Dorinda was at her side. "What was that, Karen? You alright?" she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
Karen shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. "I don't know... something just feels off," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't control it. My voice—it's not the same."
Denise, leaning against the wall, chimed in. "Your voice was higher than usual, but we covered it. Nobody noticed."
Karen nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn't fade. "I think it's because of the baby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Everything's changing."
Twinkie came over, wiping sweat from her brow, her face serious. "You're doing a lot, Karen. You're still getting up there and singing every night, pregnant and all. Maybe it's your body's way of telling you to slow down."
"Slow down?" Mattie's voice cut through the group as she joined them backstage, arms crossed. "Karen doesn't have time to slow down. We have a tour to finish."
Dorinda and Denise exchanged looks, but it was Denise who spoke up first, her voice firm. "Mama, Karen's pregnant. You can't just push her like this."
Mattie's eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. "She's fine. If she's well enough to get on that stage, then she's well enough to keep going. God gave her a gift, and she's going to use it."
Twinkie stepped forward, her tone more gentle but just as resolute. "Mama, maybe we need to take a break, just for a bit. Karen needs to rest. She's been through enough."
Karen remained quiet, looking at the floor, feeling the weight of everyone's expectations crushing down on her. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up, but she didn't feel like she had a choice.
