As I drove past the aging building, memories swirled in my head. My childhood memories of maman were bittersweet. Poverty is a hard master and one that overwhelmed my mother. She should have been born in a genteel environment, and loved unconditionally by her man. Instead she toiled night and day within crumbling walls for a drunkard who barely made ends meet. Even I, who did love her unconditionally, left her to die in squalor when I took flight. My regret is that I came back too late. Too late to give her comfort and the joy that she deserved. Too late to give her life.
Are memories of your mother bittersweet?
© Colline Kook-Chun, 2018
(This post was inspired by Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The challenge asks for bloggers to write a story in 100 words or less in response to the photo prompt.)