Syn took all the time she could to think as she went up the stairs. Every step that she put forward, another line of thought needing thorough consideration appears in her mind.
'No, she won't buy that excuse. I have to find a proper one -- A flawless excuse that will make her believe.' The lady bit her bottom lip ever so slightly, her eyes watery from the fear that was ceaselessly prickling her skin. 'Failing is not an option. If I make a slip-up, my mommy will do that again. She should never do that again.'
What Syn meant by the word again was a story to tell for another time. The record of that certain happening in their lives was pushed at the back of her head, placed in a trove locked with a rusting bolt.
She didn't expect that the memory would free itself.
The lady was not ready to confront it.
Syn had not once recovered from the trauma she suffered that day.