Tears ricocheted down my face with no regard as I was unable to control the hurt. It was the last piece of my dad I had left and now it was gone. 
"How could you? You know how much the flat means to me, what it meant to dad." I choked out, my throat feeling tight now.
"Sydney, I told you and you didn't listen to me-"
"Look at me!" I shouted, causing a hush over the restaurant as my mothers eyes shot up in anger. 
"Soyez silencieux Sydney!" She angrily hushed over the table, now holding dead eye contact with me. We were both filled with rage and hurt. 
"No! How could you do this to me? That's my home, I live there! All my stuff, all dads stuff?" 
She ran her tongue over her lip, "You can go collect what you want, the movers are coming in a week. Take whatever or the movers will dispose of it."
I looked into her eyes, the same eyes she gave me. Nothing. They were like ice, all the warmth, the happiness, the laughter, gone.
"You really have no heart. I'm your daughter, your only child! How could you do the one thing I never ever thought you would do?" I sobbed out, but still her face was unmoving. 
"Sydney I've told you countless times not to cross me, that apartment was and is mine. I can do what I want with it. You didn't listen-"
"We're not even together! He left me okay, I ruined it. Harry and I are not together mother, so why? Why now?" I interrupted, whispering over the table. 
"Do you think I want this kind of relationship with you Sydney? Do you think I want to have to force you to see me and hold things over your head? Begging you to stay in New York when all you want is London. You're my daughter!" She was finally cracking. One slip of the mask. 
"You choose this! You've chosen this mother. This is it, you've chosen where you stand. This is the last you'll ever see of me. That apartment, dad, that was all we had in common. Now it's gone, thanks to you." I cried, grabbing my bag from my chair. 
"Sydney, please sit down. I'm not done-"
"No! This is it. You've hated me my whole life and now, I'm done. Enjoy your life here, your fashion shows and your parties because I'm done. Lose my number and keep the hell out of my life Juliet." 
Those were the last things I said to my mother and I still meant every word. I would forever wonder why she did everything, why she needed the control. 
However, she was the last person that had control over me and I couldn't take it. 
I was now sitting in my bed, staring at my journal. It had suddenly become a new place of therapy paired with my conversations with Evangeline. I wasn't writing to sell the songs, or appease producers, this was just for me. 
I flipped it open, unsure where to start. 
My whole life, probably since the day I was born, my mother and I butted heads. She hated how close and similar I was with my father and I resented her for that. But when I was young, I was cruel to her. I could see that now. I lashed out and blamed her for what happened with my dad. 
After their divorce, our interactions were fleeting. I spent a lot of time in Atelier's, in offices and behind fashion curtains. On my trips with my mother, I was something that needed to be dealt with and either put to work or sat somewhere quiet. 
My dad always told me when he met my mother, she was sunshine in a person. She could light up any room with her laugh. 
They met on a film set, she was chasing after the stylist, trying to get her designs in the film and he was an apprentice producer. She was still living in France, in my grandmothers Parisian apartment.