Mal freezes, her head turning slowly towards me, scanning my features, lingering a moment too long on my eyes, and then doing the same to the woman still holding her hand. I can see shock and consideration taking over her expression as she notes what she views as similarities between the woman’s chestnut eyes and mine. But I shake my head, knowing there’s no possible way that this person in front of me is my mother. She doesn’t look anything like the few pictures I’ve seen of her, and, most importantly, she’s not dead.
Wth???
