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“Honey, we've been here for two weeks already. We need to keep moving.” She glanced over at me and smiled. “Why don't you go pack your bag, and we'll leave when I'm all done with my hair.”

“Okay,” I said, my voice low.

“You sound sad. Aren't you excited for another adventure? We're taking a train. Doesn't that sound fun?”

“I guess.”

She set her curling iron on the bathroom vanity, then dropped down in front of me. Gripping both my arms, she ran her thumbs up and down as she said, “This is our adventure,Poppy. Our grand adventure. Let's make the best of it and see as much of the world as we can. What do you say?”

“Okay,” I spoke evenly and uninterested. I didn't want to leave yet.

I really loved the smell of the freshly baked pastries and all the little shops and cafes. The streets were always filled with people, and the buildings looked older than the oldest church back home.

“We can ride the gondolas. In Venice, there are restaurants and shops all along the river that you can boat to.”

“Really? It's a city on water?”

“Basically. Sounds cool, doesn't it?” I nodded my head. “Good. Now go pack. I'll be ready in a few minutes.”

We took the train through the Alpine foothills, across the lagoon, and into the Santa Lucia train station. I was in awe on the train. Blossoming meadows full of white and purple flowers flashed by us like neon lights. The tops of the mountains were covered in snow, while the base was brimming with thick green trees. It was incredible.

When we arrived in Venice, I was surprised to see there were no cars. Not a single one. We walked along the streets made of gray brick. My shoes clicked like heels on tile. The houses were all stacked together tightly, with a sliver of space between them like slices of a loaf of bread flopped open.

We stopped at the edge in front of the water. I pinched one eye shut and looked through my hands. I tried to push the slices of houses back together in my mind. It didn't work, but it made me smile.

“Come on, Poppy,” my mother said.

I glanced over at her. She had her hand out to help me climb into the thin, long boat. My mother began speaking Italian with such fluency to the gondolier I was in awe. He nodded and smiled, then said something back.

“Grazie,” she said.

“Mom, I didn't know you could speak Italian.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Honey. I lived a whole other life before you came along.”

“Does dad know?”

“No, Honey. I had a life before your father, too. Sometimes, there are certain things you keep just for yourself, like knowing Italian.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Of course I can. And I will. I'm going to teach you a lot on this adventure.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. “We're starting over, Honey. It's time for us to truly live like we were meant to.”

I didn't know what she meant by that. I was so overwhelmed with all the sites around me that I barely paid attention to what she was saying. The excitement flowed through me like rain flowed down smooth glass. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

My father would go away for work for days, weeks, and sometimes months. He'd travel and leave us at home because my mother was usually sick. Some days, it was hard for her to get out of bed. She would sleep all day and only get up to take her medication or stare out a window.

Dad would say the world was poison to my mother, but at home, he could keep her safe. As for me, my father said his trips weren't for little girls.

Being in Venice, traveling with my mother, who was smiling and laughing, and seeing all the beauty around me, I couldn't help but wonder why he would want to keep all of this from us. I began to resent him for keeping me locked in our home. I began to resent him for saying my mother was too sick to do anything. She looked perfectly fine right then.

Not once did she complain about having a headache or any pain in her body. My mother hadn't talked to herself once since we left home. She moved smoothly, her steps firm and confident. Her cheeks were as pink as cotton candy. Her skin was the color of ripe peaches and not the pasty white I was used to seeing. Even her eyes had a glow that radiated like the sun cresting the horizon in the morning. The dull, fogginess I had seen so many times before had disappeared.

What changed?

My mother held my hand as we climbed out of the gondola and walked to a little restaurant called Grande Zucca. There were a few wooden-topped tables outside under a brown awning. The menu had a pumpkin on the front, which made me think of Cinderella. Except in my story, an evil stepfather was keeping me locked away, not a stepmother.

“Mom?”