ACTORS & MASKS.

RAINBOW.

The term "actor" is reserved for those on screen, but the truth is, we're all playing roles. In our daily lives, we encounter people who are expertly hiding behind masks - friends, family, neighbors, and even our partners. They blend in seamlessly, concealing their true selves.

If you look closely, you'll notice the faint outlines of these masks. Everyone wears one, carefully crafted to conceal their pain, fears, and insecurities. We're all performing, trying to convince the world - and ourselves - that we're okay.

Masks are donned for many reasons, but mine is a masterful disguise. Behind it, I conceal the brutal truth of my daily life: the pain, the depression, the bruises, the haunting nightmares, and the suffocating emptiness.

But what's eating away at me now is the weight of deception. I'm consumed by guilt - not just for the secrets I keep, but for the lies I tell. I've deceived those around me, hiding my true self behind a facade of normalcy.

In a few minutes, my mom's face will appear on the iPad screen, and I'll paint on a bright, artificial smile. I'll enthusiastically discuss the kids' latest projects and the progress they've made since my last visit. It's a familiar routine, one that requires me to put on a mask of happiness and normalcy.

I'll conjure up tears of joy, expressing excitement for the good news and my longing to see everyone. I'll spin a tale about being too busy with work to visit and mention the fictional artwork I'm supposedly creating but can't share due to a non-disclosure agreement. The irony is bitter - it's been three years since I last held a paintbrush.

Art was the thread that stitched Mama and me together; she's an art aficionado, and it was our shared passion. Now, it's just another secret I keep from her, another lie to maintain the illusion.

At the orphanage, we affectionately call all the caretakers "mothers" because they're the closest thing we have to family. But Mama Evelyn holds a special place in my heart. We bonded over our shared experiences, and she shielded me from the cruel realities of the world...or at least, she tried to.

As I gaze at my reflection on the iPad screen, a wave of nausea washes over me. My face is heavily made up, a mask of artificial perfection. I'm terrified that if I smile too widely, the facade will crumble, revealing the truth beneath.

I'm draped in an elegant white and purple turtleneck gown, a favorite of mine. Mama always had a fondness for white, saying it symbolized purity and peace. I stifle a bitter laugh. Nothing about my life is pure or peaceful. It's all just a carefully crafted illusion.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice the incessant beeping of the device in my hands, signaling Mama's call.

I tapped the screen to accept the call, plastering on a bright, artificial smile. "Hey, Mama," I chimed, relieved that my voice didn't tremble.

Mama's face filled the screen, her nose practically touching the device. "Hello, my beautiful baby," she cooed.

I chuckled nervously. "Ma...Mama, what are you doing?" But before I could finish, she asked, "Bow? Baby, are you there? Why can't I see you?" My heart skipped a beat. I'd almost forgotten...

Mama's struggles with technology are the stuff of legend. She's convinced that one day, it'll all come to life and steal our souls. I recall the Herculean effort it took to get her to use the iPad Ben gifted her for her birthday.

"It's okay, Mama," I said patiently. "I'm right here, and I can see you. You just need to turn on your camera, remember? Like I showed you?"

As I watched her fumble with the screen, I offered gentle guidance...

"No, not like that!" I guided, trying to stifle a chuckle. "It's the tiny camera icon at the top right..."

Mama's confused responses had me patiently walking her through the steps. Finally, after a few moments of technological wrestling, her face lit up.

"Hey! Can you see me now?" I asked, relief washing over me.

"Yes! Oh, my beautiful baby girl...there you are," Mama exclaimed, her eyes welling up with tears. "I miss you so much!"

"I've missed you too, Mama," I said, struggling to hold back tears. No matter how often we have these video calls, the emotions still overwhelm me.

"I'm fine, baby; everyone's doing great," Mama replied, her words tumbling out in a joyful rush. "Your brothers and sisters all say hello!" She paused, chuckling. "I had to limit the greetings, remember what happened last time?"

Her infectious laughter pulled a smile from me, but I fought to keep my voice steady, fearing it might crack under the weight of my emotions.

"Please give them a big hug from me, and tell them I miss them so much!" I said, my voice trembling as I wiped away a solitary tear that had escaped my carefully constructed facade.

Mama's warm, loving smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a hint of mischief that sent a shiver down my spine. "Your mothers and I were talking, and we came up with a suggestion."

My heart sank, weighed down by the ominous feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach. Those conversations never boded well. Memories of their last discussion still haunted me - the visit, the excruciating charade of pretending Ben and I were still together, the two weeks of sleeping on the cold, hard floor, my body aching and my heart heavy with the burden of deceit. I shuddered at the recollection, the fear of being discovered, of being vulnerable, still raw and festering.

"Oh yeah...about what?" I asked, my voice laced with trepidation.

Mama's face lit up with a triumphant smile as if she'd just unearthed the secret to world peace. But the word that tumbled out of her lips sent my heart plummeting.

"Adoption."

My stomach dropped as if the floor had given way beneath me. The air was sucked out of my lungs, leaving me gasping. Mama's words hung in the air like a challenge, a stark reminder of the secret I'd kept hidden for so long.

Seeing the alarm etched on my face, Mama's expression softened. "Look, baby...I know you two have been trying to have kids, but it's been so long, and we think you should consider other options," she said, her voice dripping with concern.

But I knew the truth - the crippling fear, the desperate attempts to keep up the charade, the aching emptiness that threatened to consume me whole. And now, Mama's words had ripped off the Band-Aid, exposing the wound I'd tried so hard to conceal.

Oh yeah...they think I'm barren, incapable of bearing life. But only if she knew the truth - the secrets I've kept hidden, the lies I've told, the weight of my deception.

I bit back the tears that threatened to spill, my voice cracking as I spoke. "I don't know about that, Mama. We've never really discussed adoption as an option--"

Mama cut me off, her words slicing through my carefully constructed facade. "I know, baby, but you'll have to consider other options soon enough. Why don't you discuss it with your husband first, and we can go from there, yeah?"

I nodded, the words sticking in my throat. "Yeah, okay, I will do that." The conversation was a ticking time bomb, waiting to unleash a truth that could shatter everything.

I abruptly ended the conversation, the weight of Mama's words suffocating me. "Goodbye, Mama," I choked out, switching off the device before releasing the pent-up breath I'd been holding.

As the screen went dark, I let go of the damned-up emotions, surrendering to the tears that had been threatening to consume me. I sobbed uncontrollably, the anguish and desperation pouring out of me like a torrent.

Just as I thought I'd exhausted myself, I heard a faint noise behind me. I lifted my tear-stained face, and my gaze collided with Ben's. His eyes, an unreadable expression, locked onto mine.

When did he get home? I wondered, my mind foggy from the emotional storm. Ben's presence was a stark reminder that I was alone in this charade, and that realization only made me cry harder.