Her Goodbye [✔]

One Minute

Three days following Miss Summers and Katie Evans death, the first letter was torn open in haste, at three in the morning. The Auburn sun had long faded and the moon was in full bloom. Miss Summers' mother had edged her way out of her bed, trying not to wake her sleep-deprived husband, and found herself in the kitchen, making caramel tea - Miss Summers favourite.

She opened the kitchen window and listened for the distressed animals outside while sipping on the tea and plucking up the courage to rip open the letter. By the time she had, her fingers had gone blue with anticipation, and her cheeks were red from the cold that had flooded in from the open window. The curtains were swaying drastically from the breeze but Mrs Summers could only look on - not quite able to stand from her seat once more. The tea was letting off a steady stream of steam and Mrs Summers wrapped her fingers around the mug staring absentmindedly at the envelope.

With eyes heavy she pierced the outer right corner of the envelope which was red in color, and then took in the cursive handwriting of her daughter; where she had written neatly "Mother". While slowly slipping her finger along the paper, carefully cutting it apart, she grew impatient, and ripped the envelope apart in frustrated anger.

Coming to her senses she pulls the letter, which had been safe from the tearing, out of the remains and pulls the halved paper apart. She takes a deep breath and begins to weep, before even reading the words before her.

"Dear Mother, First of all, I suppose I should begin by apologizing to you. This is the only letter that I'd refused to write at first because I was afraid that you'd react in a less than acceptable way.

Since I was five years old, you've been a heavy drinker, with a foul mouth. I used to say to myself "I will never, ever become my mother." because you disgusted me. Now I realize that it's hard enough trying to be a mother of a stubborn child, without the thirteen-hour job. When I found out that my father or my "hero" had caused heartbreak for you, I refused to believe it; I trusted in him so dearly. I had believed wholeheartedly that it must have been your fault because the father would never do a thing wrong. I was such an idiotic child.

I always said "She was never good enough for him." or "She brought it on herself." but you didn't. You would never have hurt me, or my father. I now trust that it was he that tore our family apart. I had forced you to stay in a bed with the man who ran around with another woman. I forced you to attempt to love a vile and hateful man. I now believe, that it was I, and I alone that left you on the rocky path, lingering near death always.

I wish for you to travel to the attic and find the trunk. It is hidden underneath grandmother's cloak. Inside shall be the numbers of every woman who my father ever laid his eyes and fingers on. Many of these women were abused, as you had been and I wish for you to seek them out. Confide in them, and get rid of that awful man.

I remember our first-day trip. I can remember so clearly - it was Hell burn cliff, not far from the church. That is where Katie and I had planned our entire lives around - dreaming and wistfully hoping. I hope you'd know by now that what was planned did come true, but not in the way our delicate minds hoped. I know now, that you were the only one on my side my whole life, no matter your state of mind.

I remember the dollhouses you got made just for me, I remember the fruit juice that you spent hours in the morning squeezing for me, and the days you stayed by me whilst fever overthrew me. I remember that you were the best mother I could ask for, I just never gave you credit for that.

I wish for you to promise yourself, you shall get over my death, and you shall get over it quickly, and then get rid of the cigarettes, the alcohol, and be a mother to my sister and brother; they deserve that.

Along with the numbers of the women, I have also enclosed the ring you gave me three years ago. I had engraved "Forever my mother." on it for you. Please, keep it with you at all times. This is the time to say I love you, and I hope you won't forget me, but please don't miss me. Don't torture yourself with that. Love, Maya."

At this point, Miss Summer's mother had dropped the cigarette she lit halfway through reading the letter and coughed her lungs out. Her tears had stopped flooding, and she had begun to run upstairs. She was no longer afraid of waking up her husband, or her children; her priority, was her lost daughter, and what that daughter had left for her.

She opened the trunk in the attic and received the numbers, and ring. As promised.

Then as instructed she stumbled back down the stairs. She then read the letter another two, soulful times and felt her lips tremble as she remembered the smallest details about her daughter. As she attempted to compose herself, she grasped the lighter lying squint on the table and burnt the last thoughts of her daughter. She then laid it out on to the metallic surface of her kitchen counters and began to watch it crisp away until it was unrecognizable.

Along with the ashes, she threw her lighter and four packets of cigarettes in the rubbish bin. She crawled underneath the sink and pulled out her established collection of alcohol then proceeded to open every bottle and pouring its contents down the sink. She then collapsed crying on the kitchen table.