My mother raised me alone.
She did a lot for me. She forgot her own lunch half the time. She never forgot mine.
That is why seeing her in a hospital bed felt wrong.
I said, “They told me you’re stable.”
There was a photo of a young man I had never seen before.
She gave me a tired look. “Don’t repeat things people say when they don’t know what else to say.”
Then she reached up to her neck and unclasped the silver locket she had worn every day of my life.
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She pressed it into my palm.
“You need to listen to me very carefully,” she said. Her voice shook. “And don’t be shocked by what I’m about to tell you.”
I stared at her. “Mom, you’re scaring me.”
“Open it.”
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