"Did you choose a name?" William said, his hand playing with the ends of my hair.

"Zia," I replied.

It was months after I moved in when he finally asked why I chose that name. "Why not Karana?" He wondered, expecting me to relate to her, and I did. "Isn't that your favorite book?"

I nodded. It was the first one I ever read. Karana was a little girl stranded on an island and left to fend for herself. She made a home for herself, on her own. Of course, I related to her.

Zia was her niece, a kid as well, who, many years later, set out to go save her aunt. Though unsuccessful in her attempts, she never stopped.

"I chose Zia because I want to save myself."

I didn't believe in heroes. No one was going to save me. No one but me. I was going to be the Zia to my Karana. In my story, however, I was going to save myself.

Unfortunately, both of us realized that reality was not nearly as sweet as the dream. I found out the hard way that you can't do much in life without leaning on others for support, that you can't always be your own hero without a little help.

"Zia?"

Her voice snapped me out of the flashbacks and brought me back to where I was. My brows furrowed, my eyes narrowed, and my mouth turned downward.

"Don't call me that," I hissed, livid as my feet staggered away from her. "Don't ever use my name. You never gave me one so you have no right to use it now."

She recoiled in her seat, the force of my words slapping her across the face as she looked away. "I'm sorry."

"You asked for me just to say sorry?" My knees nearly gave out. "Like that would ever fix anything." I laughed like a maniac.

Her eyes, pleading, red-rimmed, and brimming with tears, pierced my soul. "I'll say sorry and apologize over and over again, forever, for eternity, for as long as I'm breathing, for as long as it'll take for you to forgive me." Her voice broke and she struggled with speaking.

"I can never forgive you." I spat.

"I know," she wailed, frail, trembling hands wiping away the droplets. "I know. I know."

Scars lined the length of her arms that were exposed when the sleeves of her cardigan slipped down. What caught my attention, however, were two angry wounds, the biggest ones, on her wrists, and my heart sunk.

Taking deep breaths, I willed myself to calm down, yelling wasn't going to take us anywhere but to a road of nothing but pain, anger, and deadends.

"If you knew that, why did you ask for me?" I asked, a lot more calmly, as I leaned against the wall near the door.

She inhaled shakily. "I just wanted to see you."

"Last time I saw you was in court, and you didn't look my way, not even once." I hated how bitter I sounded.

"I did." Her voice was small as if ashamed of her words. "When you were walking away."

"What difference did that make?" I scoffed. She didn't reply. "Exactly."

"I'm sor-" My hand rose in the air, interrupting her. Her arm shook on its way to grab the cup of water on the desk. After gulping most of it, she looked my way. "Why did you come here, Z-," she stopped herself.

"I don't know either. I guess I just wanted some answers or closure." A sigh tumbled out. "I don't know."

It was silent for so long that I thought she's fallen back asleep. Her soft snores never reappeared, though. After a while, she cleared her throat. Her head rested on her palm as she gazed out of the window.

"Inessa. My name is Inessa." She exhaled. "You already know how I came here. I was actually running away from home to go to college because my family refused to. I think they saw what happened to me as punishment for going against them." She laughed, the sound bitter and full of anguish. "They disowned me, you know, twice. On the day I disappeared and on the day I was found. I expected nothing less of them."

My shoulders sagged.

"I woke up in a container with hundreds of other girls. It was silent you could hear the sound of our heartbeats. At first, I wondered why no one dared speak up. But, then, when they opened the doors, I saw the bruises and cuts on the girls and learned to keep my mouth shut early on as well."

Inessa downed the rest of the cup, wetted her lips, then cracked her fingers.

"We were sold like cattle. Virgins were the most prized and that's how I found myself pampered, dressed, and showcased to masked men in showrooms until he came into the picture. Italian, green eyes, and brown hair. He bought me. I can't believe I fell in love with someone who spent money to get me. I was no better than a slave."

She chuckled and glanced my way. I was too engrossed in her story, everything around us faded away.

"Stockholm syndrome."

"Yeah, that's what they call it." Inessa nodded then shrugged. "I guess it was either that or going crazy which I ultimately ended up doing anyway." I was sure she was leaving out lots of details but I didn't press. I had no right to. "When I found out that I was pregnant, my hopes and dreams multiplied. I was in love and he, well, he wasn't so bad. Too many red flags, but I was desperate, grasping at straws."

Her voice faltered and she choked.

"After...two weeks after I gave birth to you, he was shot and killed on the spot and I ran. They were going to kill me too or take you away from me. These people had no mercy for women or babies. They had no mercy for anyone and I had to protect you. I had to get away while it was chaotic out there."

I could tell his death hurt her more than she let on.

"Protect me?" I scoffed. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe."

She jolted up and turned my way, her eyes red and lips quivering. "I didn't know what to do. I was homeless, scared, and alone. No one showed me mercy. I was beaten, raped, and mocked. No one wanted to hire me. No one helped me take care of my baby."

My mouth snapped shut, and my throat closed up. I understood. I lived on the streets too.

"I loved you so, so much. I had to do something. Whoring myself was the only thing I was good at, the only thing that got me money, and soon, I found myself in a cramped, shabby apartment complex. But, it was home." Her hand rubbed harshly against her cheeks. "It was home."

My eyes burned. "It was never home." I turned my back to her. "Did you forget what you've done to me? Do you want me to remind you of all the pain? Verbal and physical? Oh, let's not forget how you wanted me to join your line of work!" My voice was rising until I was screaming. "I was a child, a fucking child!"

"I know." She collapsed to the floor, sobs racking her body. "I know."

My chest constricted. My face was buried in my crossed arms as I leaned against the wall for support.

"I lost a piece of me with every passing day. When I turned to drugs and alcohol, I lost myself completely then I lost you, and losing you was a wake-up call but it was already too late. You had a new family, new parents." She sniffled. "You had a new mother."

I slid down until I was crouching with my back still to her.

"You had everything I wanted to give you and I didn't want to ruin it for you. I didn't want to ruin your chance at a better life than I would have ever given you. So, I never looked at you...not until you were walking away. Seeing that was like a thousand knives stabbing my heart."

Her whimpers calmed down a little while my breathing settled.

"I never wanted a better life." My eyes connected with hers. "I just wanted you to be a mom."

She crawled my way and cupped my cheeks. Her hands were warm and I melted in them. "I will forever be your mom." Her watery smile tugged at my heartstrings. "The worst mom ever, but your mom still."

"I can't forgive you," I whispered.

She shook her head. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I can never ask anything of you."

"Then what do you want?" My eyes wouldn't stop leaking.

"Just this moment. To hold you and love you again even for a brief moment. To see what I've missed out on. You've grown into a fine young lady. I think my punishment is not being there with you, for you. I don't remember the ugly things I've done...like I was in a haze, and now I have to deal with the consequences of actions I don't recall."

And that was the worst kind of punishment, not remembering the monstrous things you've done but only suffering through the aftermath.

"I thought you were dead," I murmured, and, assuming by her scars, she'd tried multiple times to end it.

"I was until I saw you again."

As her words sunk in, I felt the hatred within me dissolve. I didn't forgive her, no. I didn't let her in or off the hook. Maybe never, or at least, not now. I just needed this.

Maybe what I needed all this time was neither forgiveness nor closure. Just acceptance.

Accepting that Inessa was my mother as well as Catherine, accepting that William was my father, accepting my past, accepting my scars and struggles.

But, most of all, accepting myself with all its flaws.

MEANING OF THE NAMES USED:

Inessa is a girl's name of Russian origin, meaning "pure" and "chaste".

A/N: This chapter was a rollercoaster. It was the hardest to write as well. I hope it doesn't seem like the abuse she suffered through was glossed over or downplayed. It played a huge part in Zia's mental health and progress on her healing journey. The purpose of the chapter was to simply express that one of the steps to battling your demons is accepting that they exist instead of sweeping them under the rug continuously. Oh, and to also make Zia realize that she's always had a mother and a father. Bless the Pattersons.