𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆

| 3 |

"settle down girls, its almost end of day" Cecilia. passed off a laugh for a cough, concealing her bountiful heart.

"Ooh ooh! mrs Dawn!"

"yes Winona?"

"we were wondering if you would like to come with us to see the tempest at the theatre tonight?" The girls all looked at her with wide eyes.

Before Cecilia could reply, a sharp pain just scathed her heart, memories flashing in her mind.

"yes but couldn't you come home earlier today, I wanted to go out to the theatre later, they've turned my favourite book into a play!"

Cecilia clenched at her chest, resting against her desk, breathing in sharply as if she were gasping for air.

"Are you alright Mrs Dawn?" The girls all saw her startled expression and grew concerned.

"no no I'm fine!" Cecilia pictured the scene from the morning, of how her daughter begged for her to come home early to see the play, talking about it all week. It had been her favourite since her father read it to her when she was five, after he passed it became the one thing she treasured deeply.

She pictured her daughter all alone in their big house, pondering her demise. the tips off her fingers grew cold, as though someone had blown out the flame on the end like a candle. Her stomach felt full and her heart heavy.

"I'm not sure if i can" she looked at the apple core laid on pages of white paper in the bin. Picturing her daughter sprawled across her big bed when she was only a baby, her skin soft and chubby, her squeals of delight filled the room, outshining all the lights and candles, warming their hearts. She felt cold, dumb, sick.

"oh please Mrs Dawn, it would mean the world to us!" The girls all stood, beginning to inch closer like vines on a helpless wall.

"please"

their small chants of please's and begs grew muffled and hazy as Cecilia imagined her daughter sitting alone at the table, picking at her vegetables and pondering her sanity.

"I really don't think i can-"

"Oh Mrs Dawn, wouldn't it be fun? You could be like our mother"

She quickly snapped from her daze, gripping at the edge of the desk until the tips of her fingers grew white and the sweat threatened to push them off.

She looked at the girls around her, eyes pleading and hands praying, looking at her like lost puppies.

She thought of the times her daughter would shout at her, slam the doors and throw her things on the floor. How she would bicker and argue whilst her mother pinched her forehead in irritation, begging for her to quit it.

Thinking of how her daughter would cry and whine, pound against the glass windows and call out her father's name, knowing he could never come back.

How she would purposefully get in the way with her work, how she required attention every moment and never gave any thought for her own mothers feelings.

The way she would mew and purr, scratch and bite, just like the cat.

She wasn't a baby anymore, she could do things herself, and yet she still required a kiss at the door.

She needed to grow up and realise that she couldn't depend on her mother anymore.

This would simply be a lesson for her.

"I'll go"