My name is Lily, I am 16 now. When I was ten, cancer slowly took my mother away from me. As if it had torn our lives into tiny pieces, treatment after treatment.
My mother’s name was Nora. She was such a kind and gentle-souled woman that people instinctively spoke more quietly beside her. Her presence was like a calming melody.
She braided my hair before school photo days, and she always hid little notes in my lunchbox:
“You are brave. You are kind. You are mine.”
On Sunday mornings Fleetwood Mac played on the radio while we baked lemon cake in the kitchen. Flour covered her apron, and her eyes always shone.
My father loved her with all his heart. When we went grocery shopping, he sometimes tucked a daisy into her hair just to make her smile.
Sometimes after dinner I saw them slow dancing in the kitchen. Back then I believed their love would protect us from everything.
But cancer arrived quietly.
At first there were only medical checkups, then the colorful scarves with which Mom covered her falling hair. At ten years old I learned words that a child should never have to learn.
THERE WERE DAYS WHEN SHE STILL LAUGHED AND TOLD JOKES.
There were days when she still laughed and told jokes. But there were also days when it felt as if the world was slipping out from under our feet.
My father held her hand at every examination.
– We will get through this, Nora – he whispered.
But the doctors’ faces already revealed the truth.
One October afternoon Mom called me to her bedside. She opened a small velvet box.
Inside it was a silver chain with a tiny pendant.
When I opened it, there was an old photo inside: the three of us at the fair. I was grinning with cotton candy on my face, and my parents were laughing.
On the back this was engraved:
TAKE ME WITH YOU INTO YOUR TOMORROWS.
“Take me with you into your tomorrows. – N.”
Mom placed it around my neck.
– If you wear this, you will remember me – she said quietly. – This is not goodbye. It will help us find each other.
A few months later the cancer won.
One day Mom was still there… the next day she was gone.
The pendant remained the only thing that connected me to her.
Two years later my father remarried.
Her name was Helen.
THEY MET AT A CHARITY EVENT.
They met at a charity event. She was elegant, confident, everyone paid attention to her.
Next to her I always felt like a shadow.
At first she was not openly cruel.
Just cold.
But over time the remarks began.
If I spilled the milk:
– Didn’t your mother teach you manners?
If I wore Mom’s cardigan:
? WHAT AN OLD-FASHIONED TASTE.
– What an old-fashioned taste.
If I made a mistake in my homework:
– No wonder you are so clumsy.
But she hated the pendant the most.
Her eyes always narrowed when she saw it.
– Lily, wear something more modern – she said.
Then her mother, Karen, started coming often.
If Helen was a knife, Karen was a razor.
TOGETHER THEY WERE CRUEL.
Together they were cruel.
– Poor child – Karen said. – You can see she did not have a proper upbringing.
– Well, with a mother like that what could we expect – Helen replied.
They laughed.
At the memory of my mother.
My father did not see it.
He worked a lot. When he came home, Helen was already playing the role of the kind wife.
When I tried to talk to him:
– Helen today again…
– Lily is still grieving – Helen interrupted. – She misunderstands things.
My father wanted peace.
And I gave up.
I hid the pendant under my shirt.
I thought that way there would be peace.
But then my father’s birthday came.
Helen organized a huge dinner. The table was full of guests, crystal glasses and flowers.
I sat quietly.
And I accidentally touched the pendant.
Helen noticed immediately.
She leaned closer with a smile.
– That ugly necklace again. It looks so cheap. Take it off before others notice.
Karen added with a grin:
– Take off that trash trinket. Some dead woman’s junk.
Something inside me finally broke.
I lifted my head.
– This is my mother’s pendant. And I will never take it off.
Silence fell.
Helen’s smile trembled.
– Technically I am your mother now – she said.
Karen burst out laughing.
– Helen has done more for you in four years than your mother did in ten.
The words burned my face.
AND THEN A DEEP VOICE BROKE THE SILENCE.
And then a deep voice broke the silence.
– Enough.
My father stood in the doorway.
He still held the birthday cake in his hand.
But his face promised a storm.
He had heard everything.
– Paul – Helen stammered. – We were just talking…
– Talking? Insulting my daughter and mocking the memory of my wife?
Karen snorted.
– Oh please…
– Do not dare say Nora’s name – my father said. – Never again.
He placed his hand on my shoulder.
Then he pointed to the door.
– Out. Both of you.
Helen turned pale.
– This is my dinner!
– This is my house – my father replied. – And my daughter is the only family I need.
Karen angrily grabbed her bag.
A few seconds later the door slammed behind them.
The house became quiet.
My father knelt beside me.
– I am sorry, sweetheart. I should have listened to you.
The guests stayed and helped continue the evening.
My father stood up and raised a toast.
– Today we were supposed to celebrate my birthday – he said. – But today I actually celebrate my daughter. The brave girl who carries her mother’s light with her every day.
And for the first time in four years I did not hide the pendant.
I wore it exactly where Mom left it.
Above my heart.
And I realized something.
Helen thought she could erase Mom’s memory.
Instead she only erased herself from our lives.
