kiraya832
When I was little, before my mom died, she used to play with my hair and whisper,
"In my twenties, your father and I were in a toxic relationship. I hated him... and I loved him. Those kinds of relationships? They either end in falling in love... or falling into the fire."
I asked, curious, "And what happened to you, Mama?"
She laughed softly, then said, "Well, sweetheart... considering you don't have a father, I think the answer's obvious."
I didn't inherit her soft brown hair or her gentle soul.
No. I inherited her tragic love story.
She burned.
And sometimes... I wonder. Am I next?