Not My Story To Tell
I look at my mother as I wait for her to answer an important question I have been getting her to answer me. And just as she has been replying, she says, "no, I can't tell you that."
I am frustrated, why does this feel like we are in a courtroom, and my mother is the witness at the same time as the lawyer, she might as well stand up in this hotel and object. I rub my forehead and close my eyes.
I guess I will have to think of another way to ask my mother in the hope of getting an answer.
"Mom," I begin with a smile on my face which from the look on my mother's face, she thinks is real, "mother, can you tell me what you did after you found her there?"
Okay, I don't think there is a difference between what I have been asking her, and the previous question I have been adding Belinda's name in it, this time round I have asked her to tell me her side.