We all know the story.

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So we all know the story. You go downstairs to hear your mom calling you. She calls your name. She is in the kitchen. But then you turn and see your mom, hiding in the cupboard under the stairs. 'Don't go in the kitchen,' she says. 'I heard it too.' It's just a silly tale.
But imagine what happens next? You have to make a choice. You, a young kid, have to decide. You remember looking at the mom under the stairs. You remember her face even now. Shaking with fear, her eyes wide with terror. 'Come here,' she shouts, 'quickly!' But then you see the mother in the kitchen. She is looking at you with a curious expression – at you, but not you. But she is tall, commanding. As if she would protect you. So you run to her. You are only four, what else could you do? She hesitates a little, then returns your embrace. And with that, the other mom disappears. Forever.
You have made your choice. You grow up having made your choice. But sometimes you wonder. Your mom looks at you, sometimes, with a strange expression, as if she doesn't know you. You only grow more distant as you reach adulthood.
One day you leave to go to college. She looks at you again, curiously, distantly. She hugs you, but only for a second before she releases you. And for the first time in your life you allow yourself to wonder. Did you really make the right choice? Did you choose the right mom? And then, for the first time, you look properly into her eyes. You see for the first time what she is thinking. She is thinking the same thing. Did she choose the wrong child?

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