Two Mothers

12

Not just me, but also my brother and sister - we all died five years ago.

We perished in a fire.

And the fire was started by our mother.

Ever since I could remember, I knew that Mom was unhappy.

In fact, our father did not die in a car accident when I was eight years old.

He had been alive and well all along.

Our father was a talented photographer but never a good husband or father.

On the day when Mom gave birth to Margot, he was out drinking with his buddies while Mom was suffering a hemorrhage.

We hardly ever saw our father after Margot's birth.

He traveled around the world to take photographs.

He would only return home for about a week each year.

His salary was high, but he never transferred any money to Mom.

Our mother had to work three odd jobs just to make ends meet.

We could see how exhausted and unhappy she was all the time.

She would often lie awake in the middle of the night, staring blankly at her phone.