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I believe it was the winter of 2032 when Mother died.
I was six years old at the time, but even then I briefly understood what had happened. I could sense every hoax in her just 'falling asleep', 'drifting away', and even at six I was sure about one thing.
Her death was never an accident.
But even in the bleak scheme of things, the tears and all-black ceremonies, lay a bouquet of peonies. Bright white with splashes of light pink, like the color you see upon a babies face after it smiles for the first time.
Everyone told me things that would supposedly help me 'cope' with the tragedy, but I didn't care for it. I wanted to act out, being six and immature. When they tried to soothe me, everyone told me mother was in the prettiest garden.
Momma's garden of peonies.
"Sir, please sign the contract."
I quickly broke from my uniform train of thoughts and looked back down at the blank table that held a blank sheet of paper on its surface.