By D. Avery

Her mother came and went, but Grandma was always there. She’d never expected much from the woman who, only fifteen years older, behaved more like a jealous sister. Like a child grown bored with a doll, her mother had played only briefly with her before slipping away and leaving her with Grandma. “You got a second chance, Girl,” Grandma would say, “Don’t do like your mother done.”

She’d never sought or expected comfort from her mother, but now it was her mother’s arm around her, her mother’s consoling words at Grandma’s funeral. “You were her second chance. A good daughter.”
Why I write? Is it a choice?” – the writer

6 thoughts on “Consolations

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