"Mrs. Star Vale?" the caller said on the phone. The title made something twist in my stomach. Soon I would not be a Mrs. anything. Soon I would not be a Vale at all.
"Yes, speaking," I replied to the hotel receptionist.
"You have a visitor. She isn't on the list. She said her name is Miranda Vale."
Mother. That was strange, even though I already knew what this visit was about.
"Do you want me to send her up?" the woman asked.
"No. I will come down. Is there a free lounge room we could use?"
"Of course, Mrs. Vale. We will arrange it."
I thanked her and hung up. The elevator doors closed around me, trapping my reflection in the mirrored walls. For a moment I stared at the woman looking back. I almost didn't recognise myself. After I filed for divorce, I spent days wondering if I had made a terrible mistake. I carried guilt like a stone pressing into my ribs.
