Free Chances Are by Donna Hill

tell anyone. She was too ashamed. Ashamed at what she’d done. Ashamed for what her parents had done to her. How could she tell her friends, tell anyone that she was homeless? A bum. That her family didn’t want her.
    To this day, nearly two decades later, the pain was just as fresh as if it had been inflicted only moments ago.
    Yes, she’d made a life for herself, maybe trying to prove something to herself and to the world, that she wasn’t just another statistic. But deep in her soul she knew that Terri was right. She was hiding behind her work and her daughter. Only now, after all this time, she didn’t know how to step out from behind the walls, as much as she may have wanted to. It was her haven. Someplace where she and her feelings were safe.
    She turned on her side and a vision of her daughter took the place of the doorway she’d slept in that first night.
    Niyah stood there, tears streaming down her face.
    â€œHow could you have lied to me? All these years. You lied. I believed in you. Trusted you. But you never felt the same way about me. I hate you! You hear me—hate you!”
    Dione’s eyes flew open. Her heart raced.
    She couldn’t risk that. No. She wouldn’t risk Niyah ever finding out the truth. She didn’t know what she’d do if she ever lost her precious daughter’s love.
    She pressed her hands to her stomach, hoping to calm the swirling sensation. She knew what she’d have to do and she hated herself for it. But she had no other choice.
    All anyone ever had to know was what she told them.

Chapter 8
    W hen morning came, Dione was tense and groggy from her nightmare-filled sleep. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and her body was sluggish like a clogged drain. She moved through the apartment in slow motion trying to get her rhythm going.
    Since she wouldn’t have time to go home and change before her meeting with Garrett, she took extra special care with her choice of clothing, and to hide the circles under her eyes, she even wore a hint of makeup, something she rarely did.
    Standing in front of the full-length mirror, that was attached behind her bedroom door, she assessed the impression she would make. Not too business, but not too casual, she concluded turning from side to side, the magenta coatdress projected just the right impression.
    She sighed, wondering again why it was so important what Garrett Lawrence thought. She sipped her coffee, the second cup of the morning. This meeting was about coming to some common goals and hopefully steering his way of thinking into a more positive direction. But about what, she asked herself. Her, or Chances Are?
    For years she’d been plagued by what others thought of her. About who and what she was. It had become exceedingly important that she represent what could be achieved.
    And she had achieved. She had shattered the stereotypes, but at what cost? There was still a part of her that refused to acknowledge the ugly truth of her life. The isolation and loss she felt. As a result, she’d become an overachiever, hoping somehow to fill the voids in her soul with external successes.
    She turned away from the telling reflection. This wasn’t about her. It was about saving her business, saving those girls who had no one else. And as she always had done, she tucked her personal feelings into that dark corner of her heart where they couldn’t be reached.
    Â 
    â€œMmm. Don’t you look jazzy today. A little tired, but jazzy,” Brenda commented when Dione arrived at work. “Love that dress.”
    â€œThanks.” Dione hung up her coat.
    â€œSpecial occasion?” she hedged.
    â€œI’m having a business dinner with Mr. Lawrence this evening—to iron out some details,” she added, catching the arched eyebrow expression.
    â€œI’m sure he’ll be impressed.”
    Dione flashed her a look. “It’s business, Bren. That’s it.”
    â€œFine.