Chapter 1Three Million From My Frozen Mother

My daughter’s ballet slippers had three holes worn straight through the toes, yet she refused to let me bring a new pair to her school.

She kept her head low, her voice barely a whisper.

"Mom, all the other girls' moms wear haute couture when they come to our shows."

"Your hands are covered in chilblains and grease. Please, just don’t come."

Later, she received her acceptance letter from the elite academy of dance.

I practically jumped for joy, but she threw the envelope straight into my face, her eyes rimmed with angry red.

We couldn't afford the tuition.

"Mom, I wish you were like other moms. Just a gentle push from them, and their kids are flying high in the clouds."

"But with you? We fight with everything we have, and we still end up suffocating in the mud."

I stared at her scarred, calloused toes, my chest aching as if a dull blade were carving through my heart.

I didn't have the courage to tell her that the chronic headaches I'd been suffering from had finally been diagnosed the day before.

A brain tumor. Terminal.

Quietly, I pulled out that old, dust-covered organ donor agreement and my high-payout accidental death insurance policy.

Evie, sweetheart. Your mom doesn't have much to offer.

But I can give you my life to buy you a ticket to a bigger stage.

...

* * *

"You’ve flipped that damn fish eight hundred times! Are you going to buy it or are we just wasting my time here?"

The fishmonger’s sharp, grating voice snapped me out of the blinding pain in my temples.

I forced a polite, pleading smile, holding back the throbbing agony of the tumor.

"I'll take it, I'll take it," I murmured. "Could you maybe give me a small discount on this one, Lou?"

"My daughter has her preliminary ballet showcase today. I wanted to make her some fish soup to keep her strength up."

"A discount? I have bills to pay too, Helen! Look at you—living on pennies, and your kid is doing ballet? You sure she isn’t just taking you for a ride?"

Her eyes swept over me with pure disdain.

I squeezed the crumpled diagnosis slip tucked deep inside my pocket and handed over the cash.

"Just this one, please."

The tumor in my brain was a ticking time bomb. I didn't know when it would finally go off.

But before it did, I had to pave the way for my Evelyn.

Taking the meager change, I hurried home first, then carefully packed a pair of pristine, snow-white ballet slippers. I made my way to the theater, keeping out of sight.

Evelyn never wanted me near her school, and she certainly didn't want me delivering shoes.

She said it was humiliating.

But today, I just wanted to steal a single glimpse of my beautiful daughter—my graceful swan—from the lobby doors.

Just one look.

But the moment I reached the backstage entrance, a security guard stepped in my way.

"Whoa, hold on. Where do you think you're going? No unauthorized personnel back here."

"I... I'm looking for my daughter, Evelyn. Evelyn Davies—she's in the showcase."

"Families belong in the audience seats!"

"And what is that smell on you? Step back, lady."

He pinched his nose, grimacing.

The smell of raw fish was a permanent fixture on my skin, baked in from years of working the docks and fish markets.

Once, that smell had been my badge of honor—the proof that I could pay for her classes.

Now, it was the barrier keeping me from her.

As we argued, a group of young girls in beautiful, matching leotards walked out.

Right in the center was Evelyn’s classmate, Chelsea.

She spotted me immediately. Covering her nose, she let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Oh my god, Evelyn, is that your mom?"

"Why does she smell like a rotting pier? Did she come backstage to scale some fish for us?"

Dozens of eyes locked onto me instantly.

I watched the color completely drain from Evelyn’s face.

She stared at me. It wasn't sadness in her eyes; it was raw, burning humiliation.

I stood frozen, clutching the cardboard box with the new slippers to my chest.

"Evie..."

"What are you doing here?! Who told you to come?!"

She lunged forward, her voice shrill and trembling.

"I... I was worried your old shoes would tear. I brought you a new pair."

I held out the box, hoping she’d take it.

She didn't even look at it. Instead, she shoved me away with a violent push.

"I don't have a mother like you! Haven't you embarrassed me enough?!"

The shove caught me off guard. My foot slipped, and I crashed hard onto the concrete.

The shoe box flew out of my hands, landing right in a murky, oil-slicked puddle nearby.

Water seeped through the cardboard caught in the puddle, ruining the pristine white satin.

Evelyn stared at the ruined slippers, the disgust in her eyes intensifying.

"You can't even hold a shoe box straight. Is there anything you can do?"

Sprawled on the freezing ground, the blinding pain in my head flared up again.

But it was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

The hallway erupted in snickers, Chelsea’s laughter ringing loudest.

"Wow. Such a beautiful family moment."

Evelyn’s face burned crimson.

She didn't help me up. She didn't even look at me again. She just turned around and ran back into the theater.

I struggled to push myself up from the cold floor.

Under the mocking stares of strangers, I gathered the wet, muddy box.

These slippers had cost four figures.

It was more than I made in an entire month of scaling and gutting fish in the freezing market.

They were dirty, yes. But maybe I could wash them. Maybe they were still salvageable.