Page 5 of Betraying Family Vows
Instead, you're hit with the reality that they are gone. And your time up in the air was the closest you'll ever be to them again; hovering between life and loss, never able to land where they are.
When I finally got to her, she was still in her room. She'd put on makeup. The famous dress she wore on the cover of Athens Fashion Week Magazine. And taken every damn pill she had.
I sat in a chair by the bed, looking at her.
She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping.
A few weeks before that, I got another call.
The great Cosmo Kouris. Member of Parliament. Infrastructure Minister. The one who promised my mom the world and gave her nothing but secret hotel rooms and a daughter he barely acknowledged.
Murdered.
After the news, I ran to her, only to find her curled on the bathroom floor, the phone still clutched in her hand. Mascara rivers down her cheeks.
"He's gone," she said over and over.
And all I could think about was the fact that he never told anyone about us.
Twenty-five years she'd waited for him to leave his wife.
Twenty-five years of being the secret, the shadow.
Twenty-five years of raising me alone and teaching me that being beautiful was the only power we had. And in the end, it wasn't enough to save her.
I blink my eyes open and I'm back in the hotel room.
I reach for the matching red lipstick to put on.
There are two things I swore the day I buried my mother. First, that I wouldn't be a woman left behind. And second, that I would find out who killed Cosmo and take my revenge.
Not for me. I only saw my father a handful of times.
And not even for myself, but for her.
Which is why I'm here getting ready.
A few days after my mother's funeral, a man by the name of John G. called me.
"I have information about Cosmo Kouris."
I nearly hung up, but something in his tone stopped me.
"And why would I care about this person?" I had said, years of lying flowing out easily. "I don't know a Cosmo Kouris."
"You can cut the act. I know he was your father."
I couldn't respond.
"If not for him, perhaps you'd prefer justice for your mother. The woman did take her life because of what they did."
I still couldn't find the words.
"Think about it," he'd continued. "You have my number."
I stare at my reflection now, remembering how I'd called him back that same night, drunk on cheap wine.
"What do you want from me?" I'd asked.
