My knees almost gave out. I gripped the edge of the side table to stay upright.
The End: Our Mother’s Truth “She trusted you,” Grandma Ruth whispered.
“And I raised them. Fed them. Put up with them. That’s worth more than any letter their mother scribbled from a hospital bed,” Clara laughed. A short, satisfied laugh. “Elena always got everything. The looks, the husband, the babies everyone fawned over. For once, I got to keep something of hers. And those boys never knew the difference.”
I don’t remember leaving. I made it to my car and sat behind the wheel for a long time before my hand could turn the key.
Our mother had a name, and that name was Elena.
She hadn’t abandoned us. She had been sick. She had begged her sister for help, and her sister had taken everything.
I drove home with the windows down because I couldn’t get enough air. Every traffic light blurred into a soft watercolor that I, of all people, should have been able to name.
