Instead, she chose my children. Their future. Even after I brought her home, even after being cold, selfish, and pragmatic to the point of cruelty.
My sick mother was still thinking about us.
That night, I clutched the plant to my chest as if it were the last vestige of her. I whispered apologies into the empty house. I told her I was sorry I hadn't visited her more often. I was sorry I'd chosen comfort over compassion. I was sorry I hadn't held her hand when she needed it most.
If only she were here, I could hug her right now.
But all I have left are three small bags of coins, a living plant and a lesson learned too late: a mother's love never dies, even when you disappoint her.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been changed. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim all responsibility for the accuracy of the information, the completeness of the interpretations, and any use thereof. All images are for illustrative purposes only.
