• She looks down at the ground as she finishes her packing, her jacket already slung over her shoulder, her purse laying on the floor, contents spilling out. She had to pack it full. She only had one suitcase to her name. For a long time, that was all she had needed, one suitcase. One suitcase could fit her whole life right into it, if she merely tugged at the edges and folded a few parts. It could make a perfect fit if she altered it just a little.

    That's what her life was like, she thought. A tear right through the middle, followed by a series of alterations that just seemed to rip the fabric even more. Since her mother's incarceration, she had bounced from foster home to foster home, and had even spent some time in an orphanage and correctional home. Now here she was, leaving Claire's house, her newest and longest lasting stay at a foster home. She wouldn't be leaving right now if it werent for her visit with her mother. Ingrid Magnussen had never been anything more than a slimy, slithering snake, a two-edged sword that could fly past you and leave you harmless and in a split second, come around again and cut you. And she cut Claire to the very core. Her mother had never had any patience for women who folded and changed formen, and that's exactly what Claire had became a pro at doing. Claire was a second-hand actress with a failing marriage and crazy, spiraling bouts of depression. And her mother, like the snake she is, cut into Claire and poisoned her thoughts.

    "You're pathetic," She hissed into Claire's ear, her daughter examining the flowers near by. "Women like you give the lot of us a bad name. Ever changing for strong minded men who know nothing about life or happiness. You think he can make you happy if you change for him? Go ahead, cut your hair, apply some more of that god-awful mascara. He'll still be having an affair when you're done with that."

    And that was all it took to break Claire's careful, non chalant composure. Her eyes filled up with tears, she shakily got up, grabbed her foster daughter's hand, and left, sobbing, through the dreadful prison gates. On the way home, she stopped at the nearest ABC store and had her way with the alcohol, waiting for her husband to come home.

    When he did, he smelled of cheap, knock-off Chanel No. 5 and stale beer, and Claire threw her bottle of Chardonnay at his head.He grabbed her by the wrists and told her their marriage was terminated, that he was moving out, and that she had never been anything but a waste of his precious director's time since they had met. Affected by her mother's words earlier, Astrid locked herself in her room, sick of Claire's charades and fake happiness. When claire came blubbering, Astrid turned away, and Claire crawled back to her room, where she then overdosed on her sleeping pills.

    Astrid had spent most of her morning laying beside Claire's lifeless body, stroking her hand, the aquamarine stone she had around her finger. She took the ring with her when she left, took it and never looked back.

    She gathered her last bag, took a deep breath, and was off to Rena Grushenka's house, to live in another personal hell she had never experienced.

    "Goodbye, Claire" Astrid whispered, slowly closing the door, planting a kiss on the white lattice-windowed door. She then turned around, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and walked to Rena Grushenka's car, never looking back.