Not About Angels (A Tom Riddle Story)

Chapter 13

The seasons came and went, at eight years old, Abigail still haven't given up. 

She knew, she told herself. She convinced herself every night, before she fell asleep, that Miranda would come for her. And when that day came, she would take him with her. 

Without him, there is no home.  

And Miranda, in her new black car that reflected her pretty face back to her, would watch silently each day, outside the orphanage, hoping-and sometimes succeeding-in catching a glimpse of her little girl. 

She wanted to call out Abigail's name, to just have those precious syllables said once again. 

But she resisted. 

She has too much at stake, too much to lose, to reveal herself to her child, whom, by the way, Mr. Erdem, her "patron,"  knew nothing of.  

but today was different. It was her daughter's eighth birthday.  Also, she had important news to announce. She thought about it, as it played back and forth, like a rolling-ball in her mind, never leaving its creases. 

Mr. Erdem offered her something, something she had always wanted. He promised, that if she were to go to America with him, he would marry her there. He would leave his ill-tempered, sour wife to manage the estates in England, while he took off to cash in on the Wall-Street boom in America. 

He will marry her there. Finally, Miranda could have a ring on her finger and gold on her name. She could finally come out of shadow, and bask herself in the sunlight.  

Oh, the things she could have.  

She stepped out of the car, placing a polished boot onto the dirty cobblestone.   

She approached the girl, who stared at her with awe, confusion, and hope. 

"Abigail." She called out, stooping in her tracks. 

Abigail stared at the finely-dressed woman in the distance. Sleek curls, deep-set blue eyes and mostly prominently, the dimpled smile that they shared.    

"Mamma?" She said in disbelief.  

Tom Riddle turned around to look at Abigail, assuming that she was talking nonsense again. 

"Who is that?" He asked. 

"Mamma?" She called again. 

Miranda ran, and picked up the girl. 

"It's me." She said, burying her face into abigail's curls. "it's really me, darling." 

They sobbed for what seemed like hours, then proceeded to have good, close looks at each other. 

"I love your dress." Abigail said. 

"I'll buy you one just like it-no-better than it, Abby." 

"Take us out to lunch." A voice cut through. 

They looked up, it was Tom Riddle.  

"Mamma, this is Tom. He's my best friend." Abigail beamed. 

"Oh, how lovely to meet you, Tom." Miranda said, taken aback. Tom Riddle scanned the woman, and saw through it all. Beautiful, yet artificial. The jewels on her neck were too bulky and flashy. The dress was expensive, but unrefined and gaudy. The makeup on her face too heavy, her perfume too excessive.  She held herself too much like a queen, yet she had no crown nor throne to position herself onto.    

So they did. Miranda took them to a teahouse, a rare treat. Abigail ate her food ravenously, while Tom took his bites, unimpressed, as always. 

"So, where will we go?" Abigail asked, eager.

Miranda looked at her daughter, and smiled, but said nothing. 

"Where, mamma?" Abigail asked again. 

Miranda sighed. "Have more of this, darling. This is really good, isn't it?" She said, handing Abigail another chicken sandwich.  

"You are taking me and Tom, aren't you?" 

Miranda looked at her daughter, then at the boy. Such a beautiful, sad boy. 

"Darling, we'll talk about this later. Eat. You look so thin." Miranda said, trying to avoid the topic. 

Abigail took another bite. A sense of unease stirred in her. When she saw Miranda, she had seen hope. All these years of waiting, hoping, praying, had not been in vain. She held the belief that Miranda will come for her so close to her heart, and so dear to her self, that she never, even in the darkest moments, doubted it.  

Why isn't Miranda telling her? 

"Mamma?" Abbagli said, putting down her sandwich. 

"Yes, darling?" 

" You-you are taking me away, are you not?" Abigail asked again. 

"No, darling. I'm afraid I can't." Miranda finally said, tears pooling in her pretty eyes as she spoke it out loud. 

Riddle raised an eyebrow, observing the two. 

Abigail stopped. Those words were a death sentence to her. All these years, all the dreams, were finally shattered. She carried herself through everything, everyday, by holding on to this dream. Yet now it seems to be only a mirage. 

Miranda saw the defeat in her daughter's eyes. 

"I'm so sorry, baby. I wish-I wish I could. I love you, Abby. I-I want you to live with me, of course, but I can't. I'm going away." 

"Going where?" 

"Somewhere very far. But very beautiful. The Americas, darling. " 

"Why?"Abigail asked. "WHY?" 

Miranda shook her head. "I'm so sorry, darling." 

Abigail was old enough to understand the situation. Her mother had abandoned her. 

She ran out, and Miranda chased after her. Lithe and small, she was fast. Abigail ran and ran and ran though the streets, until she had reached the one spot she knew where Miranda will not find her. 

It was the rock beds beneath the orphanage. The waves crashed mercilessly against the jagged rock, sending bursts of water upwards, enough to swallow someone whole. 

She stood there, and saw the vast, black ocean in front of her. 

Her one hope, it was gone. 

She had lived in a dream all these years, unable to accept the reality that she was just like the rest of them. Unloved, abandoned, unwanted. 

Someone took a sharp knife and cut through that delicate bubble, sending the young girl at break-neck speed into the hell that is her reality. 

"Wait." A voice called behind her, breaking her silence. 

He walked onto those jagged rocks, and stood behind her. 

She looked back at him, tears in her eyes.