Mirror Me | A Mother's Love

Esther

Esther sat in her quiet house, the low hum of the television filling the otherwise silent space. The house was vast—four bedrooms, far more than she needed. But it was hers. She could have lived with her daughter and son-in-law, surrounded by family, but she had chosen this solitude. The reasons for that decision were hers alone, buried deep in her heart, where no one else could reach. Here, everything was exactly where she wanted it, untouched, under her control.

She rested on the couch, her fingers gliding over the pages of a notebook, making lists of things she wanted to tell her daughter. Lessons, reminders, warnings—small pieces of advice plucked from the world around her, as if she were the only one who saw things clearly. She often watched the news, taking note of each misfortune, twisting it into a lesson Cora needed to hear, something she had to understand. She'd tell herself it was all out of love—she just wanted to protect her daughter from life's mistakes. But deep down, she needed Cora to know her way was best, her advice essential. Without it, how would her daughter possibly navigate the world?

Sometimes, she knew her guidance bordered on controlling. Like the other day, when she saw Cora and her husband sorting through their trash and recycling. She had come out and started giving instructions on how to separate items properly, detailing which plastics went where, even though they were already doing it exactly as she would have. She caught herself then, watching the look on her daughter's face as she listened politely but didn't really need the help. "I don't know why I'm telling you this when you already know," Esther had said, half to herself, but she couldn't seem to stop. Even knowing she was being controlling didn't stop her from doing it anyway. It was like an itch she couldn't help but scratch.

Her childhood, after all, had not been kind to her. Esther grew up in a house that was more a crumbling shelter than a home. It had been crowded and suffocating, with too many people and too little space. They were poor, and as the youngest of four children, Esther had been largely ignored. Her sister had died from cancer, leaving behind a fractured family. Her mother tried to protect her, but the weight of their father's temper kept them all in line.

Esther had learned early on that she had to fend for herself. Independence became her survival. She had studied hard, pushed herself, and become a perfectionist out of necessity. There had been no other choice, no one to rely on but herself. In a way, she'd built her adult life as a shield against those childhood memories, creating routines and order where there had once been chaos. The thought of letting someone else step in, to alter even a small part of her world, made her uneasy.

As she sat on the couch now, something on the news stirred an old memory, one she had tried to bury but could never fully forget.

She had been six years old, playing outside when she spotted her older sister across the street, walking out of a convenience store with a little girl about Esther's age. Her sister had bought the girl a candy bar—something she had never done for Esther. That moment, seeing the girl's smile, had filled Esther with a deep sadness and jealousy. It was a rejection she couldn't explain, but it stung nonetheless. She deserved better, she thought now, bitterness creeping in. Why should others have things so easily when she'd had to claw for every scrap?

A few days later, unable to shake the feeling, Esther went into that same store and stole a candy bar. The owner caught her, and she ran, the guilt following her. From that day on, she had avoided that store, too ashamed to ever pass it again.

Other memories flooded in, uninvited but relentless.

There had been the day her family had managed to buy a little meat, a rare luxury in their home. Her mother made soup, meant to be shared among everyone. But Esther, being the youngest and weakest, had been pushed aside as her siblings fought for the best pieces. Her older brother went in for seconds before she'd even had her first bite. It was as if everyone around her had forgotten she existed, or perhaps they just didn't care.

How selfish, she had thought, the anger still fresh all these years later. Shouldn't someone have seen her need, recognized her worth? Instead, she'd grown up knowing she had to fend for herself, that only by doing everything just right could she secure her place in the world. And so she'd done just that, becoming the kind of woman who never left things to chance. Her own daughter might call her "demanding," but Esther considered it preparedness.

Sitting on the couch, those old feelings of anger and hurt bubbled to the surface once again. It was no wonder she had cut everyone off. She didn't need them. They had never been there for her, and they wouldn't be now.

With a long, steadying breath, Esther refocused on the television, the news continuing without pause. She picked up her phone and texted Cora about a food recall she'd just heard. In her mind, she was being helpful. At least she could try to make sure her daughter had a better life than she had. She didn't need family herself, not anymore—but she could still pass on her lessons, ensuring Cora would never feel the same pain.

As she set her phone down, her eyes scanned the room, making note of everything neatly in its place. Control. Order. These were her safety nets. And as long as she held onto them, nothing could shake the world she'd so carefully built.