Gladys had a face like a patchwork quilt. When people first saw her they recoiled although they tried to hide it. Children cried. Teenagers made fun. Her own daughter Phoebe though,now a teenager herself, was as beautiful as sunshine. She'd never said hurtful teenage things. At least in Phoebe’s eyes, her mother was beautiful.

Gladys had been married to Phoebe’s father and there were some good times. One day however, she returned from work to find him sitting on the couch with Phoebe in his arms. His belongings were packed in suitcases lined by the door like soldiers going off to war.

"You just don't get it, " he said. "What man could reasonably be expected to wake up to a woman who looked like... that?"

And Gladys, who did want to be reasonable, snatcheed Phoebe away from him and said, " Just get out!". And that was the end like the last sentence of a very sad book wherein for better or worse held no meaning.

Still she had her Phoebe. The little girl who had always come running into her mother’s arms and given her kisses, who was ever so helpful and kind seemed to have grown up overnight. Often Phooebe said, Gladys was just fine, “Just the way you are!” It got so that Gladys believed it was true.

And she went on with her life.

Few people remembered that Gladys had not always looked this way. She had been born with a soft complexion and noble features. Those who attended her small wedding thought her radiant- a handsome woman.

One day though,when Phoebe was just a few months old,the kitchen caught fire. It raged into the living room where Gladys napped. She woke up just in time to see it surge toward the baby’s room.

She lurched from the couch, through the angry flames and into the nursery. Grabbing her sleeping baby and holding her close to her chest, Gladys tried to get the window open. It was stuck. She had no choice but to return the way she’d come - through the same flames which licked and snapped at her arms and face.

She’d saved them both. The baby, the beautiful unscarred baby, never knew the story.

And tonight, as Gladys goes to tell Phoebe goodnight and sweet dreams, she hears her daughter giggling on the phone. She doesn't interrupt her, understanding her daughter's need for privacy.

Then, “PALEEEZE! Who TOLD you that? You know I’m adopted.”

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Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin

Photograph by Bazil Raubach