When I was young, people always told me I would be a heartbreaker. I don’t think this is what they meant.

I sang with soul, the name Heartbreaker flashing on the screen above me. I tilted my head back slightly as I sang, pouring all my emotion into my music. The audience clapped along.

The song I was singing was called Lights Out. It was only fitting for the stage along with the entire room to be bathed in darkness all of a sudden. I stopped singing abruptly and the only sound was the creaking of the velvet seats.

The audience became uneasy. My drummer banged on the drum once, twice. I grinned. A clattering sound erupted from the speakers. Two thousand heads turned.

I pressed a hidden button on my microphone. Red lights shone through the cracks in the two double doors in the back of the theater.

In a split second, the doors banged open and the theater flooded with red lights and fog.

I sang as loud as I POSSIBLY COULD and the audience cheered! The guitarist jumped up from her seat and signaled everyone else to stand up.

I had the time of my life! The audience looked like it, too! It was my first performance, but in my opinion it was amazing.

At the end of my performance, I got a call from my mom. She told me to come home, to her.

I’ve been living away from her for ten years now. Why would she want me to come to her?

I hate that woman. As far as I know, she is not my biological mother. And this isn’t some irrational hate I’ve harbored. It is cold, hard hate.

On my 19th birthday, my dad baked me a cake. It was three-tiered, messy, and overcooked. I loved that cake. It showed my dad’s love for me.

My mom walked over to me while everyone was eating the cake. She tried a bit and spat it out. “This is disgusting!” she yelled.

“No, it’s not. Dad made it special for me. I love it.” My mom couldn’t take a no. She shoved the cake into my face and told me to respect her. She then hit me.

Eventually after these events and many more, she kicked me out of the house. I never spoke to her again. I decided to forget she existed.

She always called me worthless. I proved her wrong. I made tens of thousands every year. After doing this for ten years, I was a millionaire.

I didn’t know what my mom wanted from me. But I went to her house nevertheless.

When I stepped through the door I was overwhelmed with familiar scents and colors and pictures. I blocked it all out- it was making me happy to be back there.

“Sandra?” I refused to call her mom.

“Nadia! You’re back,” Sandra said flatly, as if she wasn’t happy for me to be there. “We need to talk. Sit.” I didn’t sit.

“I’m your mother. I brought you into this world. I raised you. You are Heartbreaker, correct?” I nodded subtly. “It’s only fair that we share your yearly wages.

I was taken aback by this. “W-what?” I stuttered.

“Yes. You need to give me some of your money. Or else I’ll take you to court. I didn’t need a child! Nor to bring one up! You should consider yourself lucky!”

“You selfish idiot! I’m not giving you my money! I made it! I became a successful singer! If all you wanted was money, if that’s all you care about, then I guess I’ll break your heart.

“No.”