Triangle of Promises

A story about a mother who uses lies to keep her promise to her daughter.


5. Mia's POV

The rest of the journey, silence hangs like a leaf from a tree between us. Eventually the leaf flutters to the ground and the silence erupts.

"Mia, I can explain..." My Mother's voice is quiet, almost reassuring, but I can hear the tears in her voice, the sobs waiting to flood down her perfectly made up face. I shoot a glare in her direction. She shifts away from me. 

"What, scared of me, are you?" I laugh but it's not the kind of laugh I let out when I've been told a joke, or the kind of laugh I'd let out if my Mum tripped over my bag. It's blunt, sharp at the edges. 

"Mia, I know you're confused right now," she continues, as if I never said a word, "But there's more to it."

"What, then?"

She thinks for a moment, almost like she's thinking up an answer. "I had to change your name so that he wouldn't find us again."

I snort. "Then why didn't you change your name too, Mum?"

She's hesitant for a moment, before she fires back. "How do you know I haven't changed my name?"

It's a good point, but I don't let her know it.

"Prove it." 

I almost see fear flicker in her pupils. It's dawning on me that perhaps I should have stayed in England, faced this devil of a Dad myself. Because Mum clearly can't.

"Give me your passport." I almost hiss at her.

She shakes her head. Barely.

"Just give it to me, please!" I almost scream.

The door of the taxi suddenly jolts open and I see a head peer around the side, looking straight into my eyes.

"We're here now." 

How convenient, ending the argument between me and my mother, letting her right off the hook. She'll be getting it later though.

I keep my mouth shut as we drag our bags out the taxi; check in at probably the crappiest hotel ever and climb the flights of stairs to our room. You'd think they could at least afford a lift.

We wheel the suitcases into the room, and drop them on the side by the dresser. The double bed in front of me immediately pisses me off. There is no way I'm sharing a bed with my mother after all this. As soon as the door closes, I lunge at her.

Pushing her to the ground, so she's under my grip, I scream, "Give me your freaking passport!"

"No, Mia, just stop!" She shouts, but it's muffled because my sleeve is over her mouth. Why is she being so difficult? 

"Mia, get off me!" She screams, trying to push me out the way. But aw, she's too weak, isn't she? There's no way for her to get out.

I laugh, leaning over to her purse and taking out the passports. I flick through the first one which is mine and then grab the other one. Sure enough, my Mum's name is scribbled across it - the name I've always known her to have.

"Now you explain." I say, crossing my arms as I allow her to get to her feet.

"He's only after you." She says, but she says it as more of a question.


It takes her by surprise, the word leaving my mouth without a pause. I don't care anymore. I don't want to pretend to be the perfect daughter when she's been lying about being a perfect mother all this time.

I don't understand.

I don't get it. 

Why is my name not Mia?
Why is my Dad after us?

Why are we really running away?

But as my legs give way and I flop onto the bed, I realise I don't have the strength to carry all these burdens. Not now, anyway. So I let my eyes close and wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

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