She sat alone in the car, mopping tears that sprang when she heard those lines.
“Every place I go, I think of you; Every song I sing, I sing for you.”
Then she busied herself tidying up her face. Wiped clean, sniffle-free, composed.
Wicked stepmothers can’t be seen missing little souls not born of them.
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
Vox populi