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Mother’s Daughter

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When Sylvia finally left, the flat grew still. Sophie lowered herself onto the sofa, Madison’s sofa, and let her hands fall against her knees.

Her daughter’s words rang in her ears. “You sound just like Grandma Madison.”

Sophie gave a short, dry laugh. Of course she did. She had Madison’s temper, her sharp tongue, her way of filling a room with fire whether she meant to or not. She had never truly denied it. She was her mother’s daughter, through and through.

The thought wasn’t what unsettled her. What unsettled her was hearing it from Sylvia. Hearing her own child, with those same blue eyes, throw the mirror back at her.

Sophie glanced around the flat, the velvet curtains, the gold-framed mirror, the faint trace of perfume still clinging to the air. Madison had died, but her presence had never left. And now, Sophie realized, it hadn’t stopped with her. It was in Sylvia too.

That both warmed and frightened her. Because Madison’s fire was beauty and ruin bound together, and Sophie could already see the spark alive in her daughter. The spark that could make her powerful or destroy her.

She leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the weight of silence press against her.

A small smile touched her lips, bittersweet. “She was right, Mama. You didn’t just make me your daughter. You made your granddaughter too.”