My mom always tells me: There is no relationship more pure than that of yours with your mother, father, and siblings. She says there's no one out there, not one friend, not one cousin, not one aunt, not one uncle that loves you quite as much as your very own family does. So treasure what you have. No matter how close you get to everyone else, don't forget the relationships you may take for granted each and every day. Treasure your mother. Appreciate your father. Even challenge yourself to hold your siblings close, tell them how much you love them. Because through thick and thin, smooth and rough, they will be the ones truly there for you.

* * *

"Mommy?"

The little girl impatiently tugged at the hem of her mother's dress. Her wide hazel eyes held an unbelievable amount of irritation for whichever client was on the other end of her mother's call. It was supposed to be their day. It was movie night, but like always, her mother couldn't keep her hands off of her cell phone for longer than a minute.

"Mr. Fulton, I can assure you--" The young woman was cut off once again by the persistent man and, more aggravated than ever, placed a hand on her forehead. She helped herself to a few deep breaths and rubbed her temple.

"Mom, come on," the six year old all but begged, her small hands fidgeting nervously. She didn't want to anger her mother, but she was also sure of how the night would turn out. Her mother would completely disregard their movie night. She would completely disregard her only daughter. No one could blame the child for trying so hard, striving for her mother's attention.

"Honey, don't be rude. You can see I'm on the phone, whatever it is can wait," the mother whispered harshly down at her daughter. She covered the cell phone as she spoke, making sure that the important client on the other end couldn't hear a word.

The toddler stomped angrily, earning herself another disapproving glare.

"Sorry about that Mr. Fulton," the woman continued into the device. She began pacing the room, her confident and formal tone ringing throughout the giant house.

"No, no please continue. Right now? No, I'm not busy at all," she didn't bother to offer her daughter another glance before darting unhesitatingly out of the room, her tall heels clacking the whole way out.

The little girl slumped against the wall. She tore off the bow that rested perfectly on her head and threw it across the room. She was never her mom's first priority. She was never loved as a child should be. Tears unwillingly sprung into her eyes, worsening her already aching heart. She felt unloved. Unwanted.

She brought her knees up to her chest and laid her head down, staring right into the big eyes of her all-time favorite teddy bear-- and best friend.

"You won't leave me, will you? Mommy always leaves me," she croaked through her hoarse voice. She sniffed loudly and hugged her bear close to her chest. A few minutes were spent like that. With the child pondering her mother's actions, and her own feelings. She finally looked down at her teddy bear once again and rubbed eyes clean of tears.

"Good, because I'll never leave you, either."

An innocent smile took over her lips as she hugged her stuffed animal close, closer than her own mother had ever held her.

The startling sound of glass shattering disrupted my slumber. I had always been a light sleeper, so it wasn't surprising when the horrifying noise made me jolt awake. My breathing was wavering and heart beat meteoric as I brought my knees up to my chest. It was the same dream. The same one I'd had several times ever since I was young.

I blinked many times and ran my hands down my face, and sighed after finding the moisture that had gathered on my cheeks. I threw my head into my hands and pushed aside the blanket. For a few seconds, I stayed still. I was fully awake now, recognizing there was no way I could fall asleep after that dream.

I reached underneath my bed and felt around until my fingers grasped what I was looking for. Bringing it up, I sat the damaged teddy bear on my knees. It was ripped; cotton peeked out from many of the tears, but after nearly sixteen years, I had still kept it. As pathetic as it may sound, the small bear was special to me. I had always kept it around, taking it everywhere my parents dragged me. I frowned when I realized I had never thought to name the bear.

My head shot up painfully fast when the intact sound of glass shattering filled my alert ears. The unfamiliar feeling of horror washed over me. My parents were away on a business trip, and Rose and Cal had left hours ago. I was the one to see them out the door. So who could it be?

Knowing that the answer was quite possibly a dreadful one, I quietly arose from the bed, my whist feet softly padding across the floor as I stepped into the bathroom. Without giving it much thought, I had grabbed my cell phone and the unused can of hair spray that sat hidden behind my moisturizers. Why hair spray? I had mistakenly gotten it in my eyes once, and trust me when I say this, the stuff hurts like hell.

With my cell phone and teddy bear in one hand and hairspray in another, as discretely as I could, I tip-toed out of the security and comfort of my bedroom and down the hallway. Much to my dismay, the wind was howling louder than ever, picking this exact eerie night to be at its peak.

I uncapped my unusual weapon and bit down on my lip as my unsteady feet carried me down the stairs. I had the urge to spin on my heel and bolt back to my room, lock the door, and call for help. But what if it turned out to be something else? My parents would no doubt feel embarrassed if I created such a commotion for no reason. And if it was something serious? I could stop the intruder and finally give my parents a reason to proud of me. It was a long shot, but I hesitantly carried on down the stairs anyway.

My eyes squeezed shut and my grip on the railing tightened when a stair creaked under my weight. I stayed immobile, listening intently for any type of noise. I silently cursed and barely found enough courage to carry on. My tense body somewhat relaxed when my feet finally touched the carpeted floor of the lounge room. My observing eyes digested every detail, making sure not a thing in the room was out of place before I carried on to the kitchen. I silently prayed that whoever or whatever it was wouldn't see me coming.

Turning the final corner of the living room, I extended my arm, holding the aerosol can out in front of me defensively . My right hand patted the wall, flipping the light switch once it was found. I quickly scanned the room, my hands trembling, fear cursing through my veins.

Please don't be an intruder, please don't let me be killed...

"Mom?"

I gawked down at the woman who sat on the kitchen floor. Her appearance was usually composed, not a single hair out of place. But not tonight. I stared at her, speechless. Her hair was a strew, and her eyes resting on top of heavy bags. Around her laid broken pieces of glass and on her trembling hands, blood streamed unrelentingly like water in a river. I drop my bear and the can of hair spray followed, clattering to the ground as I rushed over to my mother.

"Mom, get up," I spoke breathlessly. I carefully avoided the fragments by walking on my tip-toes and crouched next to her. Delicately, I wrapped my hands around her small wrists and helped her stand up on her unsteady feet. My eyes blurred with uninvited tears as the urge to cry overwhelmed me. So many questions remained unanswered, and so many emotions swirled in the pit of my stomach. This kind of emotional interaction between my mother and I was strange -- out of question. But every thought, every fear, every bit of sour feeling towards my mother disappeared with a snap of the fingers when I laid my eyes on my mom's, which, in color, were identical to mine. There was only one difference. She was crying. Throughout the many years of being Rita McVerry's daughter, I had never ever seen the woman cry. And the vulnerable look in her glazed eyes -- which mirrored the shards of broken glass that laid dangerously around our feet -- only made me want to cry along with her.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Mom, sit still," I urged. Ignoring her whining and protests, I dabbed the open wound with an alcohol swab and threw it into the trash can at my feet, along with the rest. Thankfully, no small pieces of glass had made it through the cut, so it was an easy clean. But my mother had always been queasy at the sight of blood. She was turned the other way and would momentarily glance back at her hand and let out a yelp, before flinching and covering her eyes with her other hand. I bit down on my lip to suppress a giggle when she did it again. 

"Mom," I sighed, "The faster you let me do this, the sooner it'll be over." I reasoned. She obliged, and sat still. My fingers nimbly ran around the cold, yet smooth skin of her hand, bandaging the clean wound. She pulled her hand back when I was done. Silence surrounded us as I leaned back into the chair. The cool breeze coming from the open window in front of us chilled my skin, arising goosebumps. The only audible sounds were those of blaring car horns and crickets beginning to chirp, welcoming the novel sunrise. The city's street lights were scattered across the tableau, reminding me much of the stars that graced the night sky.

We were sitting at the dining table after I had picked up the fragments of glass and bandaged my mother's hand. It was weird, to say the least. For once, my mom wasn't ordering me to do something I didn't want to. She wasn't scolding me for something I did wrong. She hadn't said a single word since I found her on the kitchen floor, her lips set in a pursed line the whole time. She simply sat in her wooden chair and gazed out the window, a ghost of a frown gracing her lips. Her shoulders were slumped, meaning something definitely was not right. Being a model and the stout woman she was, my mother was the definition of confidence. When people thought of Rita McVerry, they thought radiant, beautiful, perfect. 

"What are you doing home? I thought you were going to stay in Germany for another week," I inquired. My voice was small. I didn't quite know how to talk to my very own mother. We hadn't actually talked in weeks. It was like that around the entire house. Mother was stuck in her own world, designing, launching, and not uttering a word to me. Father was the same way he had always been. The strict business man who was sucked into the business world, with no way out. And me? I had been around the guys a lot. Danielle and I would go out at least once every week, and sometimes Perrie and Eleanor would even tag along. 

"The launch got delayed. Some of our partners couldn't make it, so we'll be going back a few weeks. Your father has a meeting in the states tomorrow, so he's going to head straight there in the morning," my mom answered. She kept her gaze on the London streets, her eyes not meeting mine. 

I nodded and awkwardly looked down at my hands. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. It was strange, how different this was from our normal encounters. My mothers voice was gentle -- almost feeble -- as she spoke to me. Had she finally began paying attention to me? I don't know. But did I want her to? More than anything. I looked back up at her when she cleared her throat and turned to look at me. Tilting her head to the side slightly, she frowned. 

"Why did you have hair spray in your hand? And that teddy bear? I didn't know you still had that." 

There it was. The demanding, confident tone her voice always carried.

"Well, I heard the glass break and thought the hair spray would be a good weapon. You know, in case there was an intruder.." As the words flowed out of my mouth, my cheeks reddened in embarrassment, realizing just how pathetic I must have sounded. 

A musical sound of loud laughter escaped my mothers lips, leaving me shocked. I couldn't remember the last time she had laughed and the fact that she laughed at something I said only made it that much better. I stared at her, a huge smile gracing my lips, as her shoulders shook with lighter laughter. She finally sobered up, and met my gaze. 

"What?" she asked when she saw me staring, the rare smile of hers never leaving her lips. It was something I wished to see much more often. That's when I noted that her smile was so much like my own, with dimple framing each side. It was full of life, but I couldn't help but notice the glint of sadness and confusion her eyes held.

"N-nothing, I.. I was just wondering. Why were you crying, mom?" I stuttered nervously and removed my gaze to look down at my bare feet. I heard her sigh heavily and felt a pang of guilt when I saw that her smile had left her lips. I didn't want to bring the topic up, but something was most definitely wrong. And despite the way she treated me, she was still my mother. I couldn't hate her even if I wanted to.

"Did I ever tell you about your grandmother, Charlotte?" she questioned. I raised an eyebrow, confused as to what this had to do with anything. 

"No, you never really talk to me."

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, but it was the truth. It was like a compromised silence between the two of us.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but she spoke instead. 

"Don't apologize. It's true. You know, Charlotte, if your grandmother was still alive, those would be my exact words to her," she said. A melancholy look flashed accross her already exhausted expression as she took my silence as an invitation to continue. 

"Your grandmother was always a very strict woman. She strived for nothing less than perfection and wanted me to do the same. You remind me so much of myself when I was younger, Charlotte. You're spontaneous, stubborn, and confident. But you have one quality that I only ever wish I did. You're strong. When I was your age, I had given into my mother's attempts to make me like her. At the time, I believed every word of hers. She had branded the realities of the world into my mind. She said to me that weakness gets you nowhere. She taught me that love was indeed weakness. She said that in this world, you only look out for youself; that perfection is the goal and you must obtain it," my mother's voice cracked when tears began rolling down her cheeks. I sat stunned and utterly astonished. Was this really happening? My head felt dizzy as I tried to distinguish reality from a dream. 

"You know what the sad thing is, Charlotte?" Mother questioned, her voice containing traces of dark humor. "I believed every word of hers. I became selfish, demanding, and dangerously successful. It took me a while, Charlotte. It took me a while to get to where I am now. But sometimes, I do look back. I wonder. What if I hadn't given in to my mother? What if I grew up to be my own person?" she paused and made an attempt to regain her composure, but it soon failed with her next words. 

"Maybe. Just maybe, I wouldn't have turned out to be just like her."

In tears myself, I stood up and threw my arms around the woman. To be this close emotionally to my mom was something I had never imagined. I never thought things would turn out the way they were now, but I couldn't imagine being any happier.

"I'm sorry. I became a monster, someone I never wanted to become. It was all my fault, I was a coward.  There was always that thought pulling me back to my ways every time I tried to change. What if mother was right? What if, to be happy, I do have to be selfish?" My mom raised her head from where it was resting on my shoulder and looked down, her cheeks stained with tears. I stayed silent, this amount of emotion become hard to digest. My thoughts sped up along with the tears that streamed down my face, as if they were in some sort of race. 

"I... I don't know how many times I can say this. But I'm sorry. I haven't been a mother to you. I haven't been what you should've had from the beginning. I know that you probably hate me, but just give me one chance. I'll make up for it Charlotte. I'll make up for all eighteen years, just please, forgive me."

My heart ached when my mother's pleading eyes met mine. She was begging. Begging for my forgiveness.

"Mom," I cupped her face and wiped away fresh tears with the pads of my thumbs. "Mom, please stop. I could never hate you. I love you, mom."

That's all it took for both of us to burst into hysterics. My mother kissed my forehead gently and wiped away her tears. She wrapped her arms around me tightly as we stood in each other's arms, in an embrace that symbolized not only love, but forgiveness. 

  * * * 

 (A/N) This scene is not one that I was originally planning on incorporating into this story. I don't exactly know how I'm going to work this into upcoming chapters, but honestly, I couldn't resist writing it. 

So, what did you guys think? Did you like it? Suggestions? Questions? Leave them in the comments below! Oh and I just want to thank you all because this story hit 60,000 reads just a few days ago. It's really hard for me to imagine, especially because I never thought it was get past, like, a hundred. Thank you all again. I love you SO SO MUCH and your incredibly support never fails to amaze me. 

I'm sorry if this chapter contains typos or isn't very well-written because I'm uploading from my phone.. hopefully they're not too distracting! 

Thank you for your sweet comments on the previous chapter! I've been feeling really good lately and you guys are just adding to all this happiness.. It just feels like my life is stable again. Back on track, you know? Took a while to get there, but it was totally worth it. And ya'll definitely have a hand in this. Thank you once again! Don't hesitate to drop me a message if you ever want to talk! Bye, for now! :) - Aysha