The Story Of My Mother's Story?

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Really, I shouldn’t be hurt by my aunt’s words. I knew after my sister died my mother was not the same, becoming even worse after learning how she died. Suddenly it was my mother who caused a deep rift the already broken home and I didn’t know what hurt worse; my sister killing herself or my parents killing each other. It was weird, hearing about my problems from another’s mouth. It was always me screaming that our parents loved Morana, that it wasn’t my mother’s fault she killed herself, that my mother still loved my father, and yet no one’s yelling for me. Funny how I’m the only one left now. “With all that’s happened, we believe that it’s best for you to live with me and my family for now.” My aunt had said, voice wavering as she sat stiff beside me on my bed. The house was empty save for the furniture. All my things already packed up and sent away, one can only know what has happened to my parents’ and Morana’s stuff. “I know this is sudden, but it’s for the best.” “It’s for the best”, She said. As if I hadn’t heard that term spoken to me before. Like whispers or like screams, all in the same tone of voice as they placed a hand on my shoulder and spoke to me as if I was a child, as if I was incapable of understanding. There false comforts did not go unnoticed, but it did go unacknowledged. I feel like puking as those memories from Morana’s death surfaced again, this time while awake. “We should go now, it’s already late.” She stood, but remained unmoving with

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