You can go ahead, cry those Oscar winning tears baby…

Your mother, Georgia Miller. Randolph. Drexel. Warren. Greene. Mary Reilly.

She had so many names. Names that revealed every inch of her past that she so very carefully kept concealed. Georgia hid everything behind her pretty face and southern accent.

You were the only one who knew your mother for what she truly was and what she’s done.

And now, she was on trial. Trial for the murder of Cynthia’s husband. It was absolute insanity, but it was true. She was guilty, but your mom could get her way out of everything.

Paul—her newest husband—had slowly started trickling away. His court appearances were non-existent. Same with your father, Zion. They were both finding things out about Georgia, and it was brutal. Your dad wanted you out of the house, but your mom needed you.

So today, after trial, the three of you—Georgia, Austin, and you—fought your way through the swarm of reporters, finally making it inside the house. Georgia shut the door firmly, locking it with a practiced ease, before turning to you and your younger brother with a forced smile.

“Well, it’s getting better, peach.” She said specifically to you with false confidence, leaning back against the front door in her bright outfit.