Fragments of Us

Chapter Nineteen: Anna

The afternoon sun was soft, filtering through sheer curtains that swayed slightly with the breeze. Ten-year-old Milo sat cross-legged on the rug in their cozy living room, his small hands balled into fists on his knees. Across from him, five-year-old Lila stood clutching her favorite doll, its arm dangling lifelessly—a casualty of their latest sibling scuffle.

   “You broke it on purpose!” Lila’s voice quivered, her cheeks red with frustration.

   “I didn’t!” Milo shot back, his voice high-pitched with indignation. “You shouldn’t have left it where I could step on it!”

Before the argument could escalate, their mother’s voice carried through the room, firm yet gentle. “What’s going on here?”

Anna stepped into the living room, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her kind eyes scanning the scene. She sighed softly at the sight of the broken doll and her two sulking children.

   “Milo,” she said, crouching down to meet his gaze. “What happened?”

   “I didn’t mean to break it,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

Anna turned to Lila, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s tear-streaked face. “And you, sweetie? Do you think shouting at Milo will fix your doll?”

Lila sniffled, hugging the doll tighter. “But he—”

   “No buts,” Anna interrupted gently. She sat back on her heels, looking between her children. “Listen to me. Mistakes happen. What matters is how we handle them after.”

She reached out, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Her voice softened, becoming almost melodic. “Forgiveness isn’t about pretending something didn’t happen. It’s about choosing to move past it because love is more important than being right or angry. You’re family. And family forgives.”

The weight of her words settled in the room like a warm blanket. Lila hesitated but eventually nodded, her tears slowing. Milo glanced at the broken doll and sighed. “I’ll help fix it,” he mumbled.

Anna smiled, pulling them into a hug. “That’s my good kids.”

The memory lingered in Milo’s mind like an old photograph as he stood in the cemetery years later.

The graveyard was quiet, the air heavy with the faint scent of damp earth and wilted flowers. Milo stood still, his gaze locked on the gravestone before him.

Anna S. Rivers
Beloved Mother and Wife
1970–2019

His sister Lila knelt beside the grave, arranging a fresh bouquet of lilies. Their father, Richard, stood a few steps back, his hands clasped in quiet reflection.

   “You always loved lilies,” Lila murmured, brushing her fingers against one of the delicate petals. She glanced up at Milo, her brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

Milo didn’t respond. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the chill of the overcast day.

Lila sighed but didn’t press him, instead focusing on adjusting the flowers.

Milo’s mind churned, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. His mother’s words about forgiveness echoed faintly in his memory, but they felt distant now, like a song he couldn’t quite remember the tune to.

Had he truly forgiven Atlas? The question gnawed at him. He had told himself he had—he had even allowed Atlas back into his life, albeit cautiously. They had shared coffee, conversations, even moments of laughter. But was that forgiveness? Or was it just him going through the motions of what he thought his mother would want him to do?