Linda's POV
The plate smashed against the kitchen floor.
I stared at the broken pieces of my grandmother's china spread everywhere. The same plates I had been saving for special events. The same plates I set out tonight because Joan was finally coming home for dinner.
But she wasn't coming after all.
"Mom, I'm so sorry," Joan's voice crackled through my phone speaker. "Something came up at the studio. I have to cancel dinner again."
This was the fourth time in six months. Four times I had cooked her favorite meal. Four times I had set the table with my best dishes. Four times I had waited by the window like a fool.
"It's okay, sweetheart," I lied. "Work is important."
"I promise I'll make it up to you. Maybe next week?"
Next week. She had been saying that for two years.
I hung up and looked at the mess on my kitchen floor. Pieces of broken china mixed with mashed potatoes and gravy. Just like my broken heart mixed with sadness.
The back door slammed open, making me jump.
"Mom! I'm here!" Joan rushed in, still wearing her sparkly performance dress from the TV show I watched earlier. "Sorry I'm late! Traffic was horrible!"
I couldn't believe it. She had actually come home.
"Joan! You said you couldn't make it!" I ran to hug her, stepping over the broken plate.
But something was wrong. When I hugged my daughter, she felt stiff and cold. Like hugging a figure instead of a person.
"Are you okay?" I pulled back to look at her face. "You seem upset about something."
"I'm fine, Mom. Just tired from the show." She forced a smile, but I knew all of Joan's smiles. This one was faker than a three-dollar bill.
"Well, dinner's ready!" I tried to sound positive. "I made your favorite pot roast!"
Joan looked at the broken plate on the floor. "What happened here?"
"Oh, I just had a little accident. No big deal." I quickly started cleaning up the mess. "Grab another plate from the cabinet."
We sat down at the kitchen table like we used to when Joan was in high school. But everything felt different now. She kept checking her phone every few seconds and barely touched her food.
"So tell me about the concert," I said, trying to start a conversation. "I watched it on TV. You looked beautiful up there."
"Thanks." She moved her food around on her plate but didn't eat any. "It went fine." Fine? Twenty thousand people yelling her name and she said it went fine?
"The crowd seemed to love you. That little girl in the front row with the sign was so cute."
Joan's fork clattered against her plate. "Mom, can we talk about something else?"
"Of course, honey. How's Jake? Is he treating you well?"
Joan's face got even sadder. "We broke up."
My heart hurt for her. Jake had seemed like such a nice boy the few times I met him. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry. What happened?"
"He said I changed. Said I wasn't the same person he fell in love with." Joan's voice cracked a little. "Maybe he was right."
I reached across the table and took her hand. "Joan, you're still the same sweet girl who used to help me bake cookies every Sunday."
She pulled her hand away. "No, I'm not, Mom. That girl is gone."
"Don't say that. Fame doesn't have to change who you are inside."
Joan laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Everything changes, Mom. People, friendships, love. Nothing stays the same."
I wanted to fight with her, but looking at my daughter now, I could see she was different. The Joan sitting in my kitchen was colder, harder, more wary than the girl who left home three years ago.
"Have you talked to Ryan lately?" I asked carefully.
Joan's whole body went tense. "Why would I talk to Ryan?"
"Because he's your best friend. Because he cares about you. His mother says he still asks about you all the time."
"Ryan doesn't understand my life now. Nobody from here does."
"We understand that you're hurting."
Joan stood up quickly, almost knocking over her chair. "I'm not hurting! I'm happy! I have everything I ever wanted!"
"Then why do you look so sad?"
For just a moment, Joan's fake mask slipped. I saw the scared little girl underneath all the fame and success. The same girl who used to crawl into my bed during rains.
"I can't tell you," she whispered. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Joan sat back down and looked around the kitchen like she was looking for hidden cameras. "Mom, what if someone was trying to hurt me? What if they knew things about me that could ruin everything?"
My blood went cold. "What kind of things? Joan, are you in some kind of trouble?"
"I can't say more than that. But if something happens to me, if my image gets destroyed, I want you to know that I'm not the person they'll try to make me look like."
"Joan, you're scaring me. Who is 'they'?"
Before Joan could answer, her phone started ringing. She looked at the screen and her face went white as paper.
"I have to go," she said, standing up again.
"Joan, wait! We need to finish talking about this!"
But she was already going for the door. "I love you, Mom. Remember that, no matter what happens."
"Joan!" I called after her, but she was gone.
I sat alone in my kitchen, looking at her untouched plate of food. Something was terribly wrong with my daughter, and she wouldn't let me help her.
My own phone rang, making me jump. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Linda Robert, Joan's mother?" The voice was masked, deep and scary.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who knows your daughter's secrets. Someone who's about to make them public."
My hands started shaking. "What secrets? What are you talking about?"
"Tomorrow morning, the whole world will see what kind of person Joan Robert really is. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."
"Please, don't hurt my daughter. She's a good person!"
"Good people don't do what Joan did. Check your email in exactly one hour. You'll see the proof."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone with tears in my eyes. Someone was threatening my little girl, and I had no idea how to defend her.
But the worst part was the doubt slipping into my mind. What if Joan really had done something terrible? What if the sweet girl I raised had become someone I didn't recognize?
I thought about the way she acted tonight. Cold, distant, suspicious. Like someone with something to hide.
One hour until I would see the "proof" of whatever Joan had done.
One hour until my daughter's life would be destroyed.
And one hour until I would find out if the person threatening Joan was telling the truth.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Fifty-nine minutes and counting.
Whatever was in that email, I knew it would change everything forever.
I just hoped it wouldn't destroy the love I had for my daughter.
But deep down, I was afraid it might.