My mother stands by the kitchen sink, clad in flurry pyjamas and her peach apron. She has the same auburn locks and playful green eyes.

On multiple occasions, I’d prayed to see my Mom alive for one last time.

But I had never quite formulated upon what I would do if I ever did get to see her.

What would I say to her? Would I run up to her for a bear hug or would I be mad at her for giving up on us?

“Rachie,” My mother’s face melts into a smile, “My God, how you’ve grown!”

Before my brain fully processes the proceedings, she walks up to me and wraps me up in a warm hug. I breathe in the familiar scent of her skin– a mixture of mint and kitchen soap.

My hands reach up instinctively as I hold her, tightly, afraid that she'll disappear if I let go.

“Mom,” I manage to say as she draws back.

I honestly don’t know what to say. A part of me knows that this isn’t my real mother but the Helpers playing with my brain. Yet the moment feels so real and tangible...I feel at home.

She places a kiss on my cheek, “Why don’t we sit down?”

Mom and I sit down at the kitchen table. She pushes a bowl of hot soup towards me, “Didn't this used to be your favourite?”

I smile. I’m flooded with nostalgia as I take in a spoonful of the creamy mushroom stew.

“Heck, I’ve missed out on a lot, haven’t I?” she says, “Tell me, Rachael. Who was your first crush?”

“Um,” I laugh softly, “I think it was Eugene from Tangled.”

“...Favourite musician?”

“Bruno Mars!”

She makes a face. “I see Logan hadn't been able to guide your tastes very sensibly.”

Well, maybe if she stayed around, it wouldn’t have been an issue. However, I keep the thought to myself.

I ask her instead, "How've you been, Mom?"

“I’ve been great,” She says and I look down.

“Really?” I say out loud, unable to suppress the hurt anymore, “Because let me tell you something. I haven't. I was messed up after you left. So was Dad. Were we not good enough for you?”

I’m shocked at what I just let slip.

Mom looks at me sadly.

“I was the one not good enough for you. Things were...” she looks down at her lap, “complicated.”

“That’s no excuse,” I force her to look up at me, “You can’t just roll over and call the quits because you got nothing better to do.”

“You don't understand!” She bangs her fist onto the table, “Life was weighing me down, Rachael. It was closing in on me and I needed to get out. I needed to breathe again.”

“I was there for you!” I didn’t realise when I had risen to full height, “I loved you and I would have done anything for you. Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

She takes in a deep breath and looks up at me with glistening eyes, “You were nine,” she looks away for a while, her expression faltering. Her lips wobble as she speaks with shaky breath, “You weren’t Logan’s child, Rachael.”

I open my mouth to retort, but find a sickening vacuum in my throat instead.

“What?”

I notice moisture caking her eyelashes, “Before you were born...your father...he used to be a drinker. He loved me, but...we had our fights. I knew he would never hit me, but something in his eyes would scare me. Those late night martinis, loud house parties, sexist jokes, his vulgar colleagues...” she grimaces at the thought and shakes her head, “It was too much for me, Rachael. I needed to get away from him. So I ran away one night.”

I listen, frozen, trying to remind myself over again that this isn’t real.

“I spent the night with a man who lived in the neighbourhood. Joe.”

“Joe?” I gasp, dumbstruck. The driver?

My mother nods slowly, “He was so nice to me. Away from the noise and cackling, I felt ...warm and comfortable.”

I shake my head, “Mom, no, you did not...”

She sighs tiredly, “I’m not sure how it happened. It did not seem wrong back then. But the moment I realised what I had done, the guilt was overbearing. Believe me, Rachael, I never meant for all of this to happen.”

She pauses, as if to think, then continues, “Logan came for me the next morning. He was genuinely sorry. I’d never seen him so sad. I went back home with him, although I couldn’t look him in the eye for a long time. He didn’t suspect anything, for Joe had never been anything more than a friendly neighbour. When I told him I was pregnant, he was beyond happy. He was elated.”

“Joe’s my - ?” My voice trembles.

“Yes,” Mom says, “Neither he nor Logan knows. But after you were born, Rachael, Logan changed. He wasn’t the reckless brute anymore. He was gentle, sweet and sensible. The way he rocked you to sleep, the way he told you stories and sang you songs, the way he tickled you till you were on the floor... he became a father. And I’d never seen a more beautiful side of him.”

Tears sting at my eyes.

“Rachael, I love you,” Mom looks at me with fond eyes, “I love your father. I always have. And I’m sorry for all the wrong things I’ve done.”

She wipes her eyes and a bright smile spreads across her face, “But death truly did bring me what I wanted. I felt young and free once again. You won’t believe the places I’ve been to ... the beautiful things I’ve seen.”

She reaches out to take my hand, but I convulsively draw mine away.

“You’re not my mother,” I speak slowly, “This is not real.”

“The line between real and unreal might be thinner than you really think, darling.”

I hear footsteps as Dad appears, walking upto Mom and placing his hands on her shoulder. The same Dad she cheated on, the same Dad who was never my Dad in the first place.

“We could be happy and safe, Rachael,” he says, as I stare at them, lost for words, “The three of us. Just like you always wanted. We could forget every mistake, every infidelity. We could be together, in a world free of all the mortal traps, here in the Elysium. Wouldn’t you want that, Rachael?”

For a while, my breathing’s the only sound I hear. A part of me melts, aches, as it longs to reach back in time when we three were a family. The long walks on the beach, the warm meals at Subway, the stormy nights I slept cuddled between them, the Sunday Movie nights with cheese popcorn and Dr Fizz.   

To get back these days was all I ever wanted.

But this is all an illusion. I can’t let the Helpers fool me.

I back away, accidentally knocking the soup bowl off the table as I stagger. It clatters to the floor and into pieces.

“No,” I say, my voice thick, “This is not what I wanted.”

“Rachael, please – ”

I try to run away, but feel a sudden pain sear up my leg as my feet get caught on the shattered glass.

For a moment I’m thrown off balance – then there’s blackness – I wake back up in the dreadful white room of the Elysium.