XII - Mother's Daughter

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  My mother was my sister when she had me with 20

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My mother was my sister when she had me with 20.

She had me with 20, because her mother had me with 45, bleeding out on the hospital bed moments after I saw the light.

My mother was 20 when she took me from her own mothers shaking hands and unknowingly called me after the book she hated most in the world: Lolita.

Because my mother, who wasn't truly my mother at all, but my sister, hated me at that time.

Nobody knew how or by whom my real mother had become pregnant, her husband having died years ago.
She insisted on having had a Dream about making one, but never truly doing it whilst awake. Nobody believed her. Nobody, except for her daughter.

My sister hated me the first month I'd been alive, because her mother wasn't.
I was sent back and forth through the newborn ward, which I didn't remember at all. Even if I had been old enough to remember, I wouldn't have wanted to.

That was until one day, my father- who was her husband at that time, the love of her life - He told her to move on and finally visit me.

He needed to tell me about the moment they fell in love with me, all the time. He just wouldn't stop replaying the moment mentally and verbally, ever.
It was the moment she saw me sleep in her arms, calmly, dependent on her unconditional love. That's when she kept me. And that's how she had me.

Morpheus knew I was adopted, though not how. My sister had overtaken the role of a mother when she was one year younger than I was now. And I could only picture her, canceling all her plans to become what she was now. My Mother.

Throwing their futures away so they could raise me as if I were their real daughter. They never mentioned she was my sister, until I turned seventeen. Up till then, I thought her blood wasn't mine. But I was old enough to understand how little blood mattered. Because back then I also thought that love conquered it all.

Now that they stood before me, I prayed for Morpheus not to ask. Not to find out about my mother being my sister. After all, I didn't want people to call her my sister.
She was my mother. And she was smiling at me with the same love she'd given me all those years ago, whilst holding me tightly in her arms.

Back then she didn't realize what a burden I would become to the both of them, this entire time, keeping them awake through night and day. Bringing them reasons to worry for my health constantly.
Stealing them of their own precious time. And then, finally, after having gotten it slightly under control, abandoning them.
I was a miserable daughter and they both were the most perfect parents.

I didn't want to abandon them.
I loved them. But we all knew that I was nothing but a liability. Instead of leaving the city, running through life hand in hand, living, they staid put since my own age, waiting for me to get better. And I felt like there was no better. There would never be a better. I just wouldn't change and they would keep waiting, wasting their lives away.

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 | 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬Where stories live. Discover now