Mr. Grey-Book I

22

Emilia

The rest of the week had flown by like a gentle breeze, a welcome respite from the storm of emotions I'd been weathering. I was spending the weekend with my parents, away from the Grey mansion - a house that seemed to be built on lies and deceit. The thought of bringing a child into such an environment weighed heavily on my heart.

Unable to find sleep with my thoughts swirling, I slipped out of bed. The cool wooden floor beneath my feet grounded me as I made my way to the bathroom to freshen up. As I descended the stairs, the comforting aroma of fresh homemade pancakes wafted up to greet me. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, seeking comfort in the familiar scents and sounds of home.

Entering the kitchen, I saw my mother at the sink, her back to me as she washed dishes. She wore her "Super Mom" apron, her salt-and-pepper hair pinned back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. A smile tugged at my lips as I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. I missed this - the simplicity of waking up each morning to the smell of pancakes or scrambled eggs, the quiet domesticity that had once been my entire world.

Mom turned, startling slightly at my presence. "Honey, are you okay?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

I nodded, trying to keep my voice light. "I just missed home, that's all." I made my way to the table, pulling out a chair and settling in. "Where's Dad? I feel like I've barely seen him since I got here. Is everything okay?"

A flicker of... something passed over Mom's face before she schooled her features. "Oh, he left early for work. Something about an emergency. No need to worry, everything's fine," she said, a little too quickly. I knew something was off, but decided not to push it. We all had our secrets now, it seemed.

"I made your favorite - strawberry pancakes," Mom announced, changing the subject as she walked to the stove. She slid the golden, fruit-studded cakes onto a plate and set them before me.

"I definitely missed this," I said with a grin, inhaling the sweet aroma.

As I dug into my breakfast, Mom pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. I could feel her eyes on me as I ate, studying me with that piercing maternal gaze that always made me feel like she could see right through me. I swallowed hard, worried she might have figured out my secret. I was definitely not doing a good job of hiding it.

"You seem different," she finally said, her tone careful.

My heart skipped a beat. I'm screwed, I thought.

"Different how?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Well, your face looks a bit puffier, and your breasts are a lot bigger now-" she began, and I quickly cut her off.

"I know, I'm getting fatter, Mom. No need to rub it in," I said, feigning annoyance to cover my panic. "I'll try to hit the gym soon."

Mom nodded, but her eyes remained thoughtful. "Good idea. If I didn't know better, I'd assume you were pregnant." She switched to Spanish, a sure sign she was being serious. "Pero sé que mi hija nunca me mentiría." (But I know my daughter would never lie to me.)

I almost choked on my pancake, guilt washing over me in waves. "Easy, hun," Mom said, reaching out to hand me a glass of water.

"Thanks, Mom," I mumbled, gulping it down in one go. Shame burned in my chest. I had never been the child to lie to my parents, especially not to my mother. She had always been the one I could turn to with any problem or issue.