The Worst mother award goes to...

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across her room, Liz sat at her desk with a pen in hand. Before her lay an assortment of letters, each addressed to the people she had encountered throughout her life. These were no ordinary letters; they were farewells-poignant notes she had written in case she were to leave this world unexpectedly.

Writing these letters gave her peace of mind, a way to say things she couldn't bring herself to say out loud.

The act of writing these letters was not born out of morbidity but rather a need for closure, a way to express thoughts and feelings she found difficult to convey in person. Liz was acutely aware of the fragility of life, a realization that weighed heavily on her young shoulders. She often contemplated the "what-ifs" and the unexplored avenues of her existence. Writing these letters gave her a sense of control over the uncontrollable, a voice when silence seemed to engulf her.

Even if no one ever read them....