Story -

Unfinished

Unfinished

When you were two years old, you looked for me, you would climb the stairs and run into my arms. You knew you could always find me, that I would always be there. Arms open. Waiting.

Then you were gone. We fought hard. A whole year passed. 

When you were four years old, you were back in my arms, we played, we laughed, we danced and we twirled. It was easy. I told you then, I wouldn’t let you go again. I would always be here. 

When you were six years old, we went in a rowing boat, we ran through the nature trail, we moved house, we brought you a swing and we baked butterfly cakes. We decorated your new room, I read you bedtime stories, I tucked you in and kissed your head. I said goodnight and turned out the light. 

When you were seven years old, you met your baby brother. You loved him instantly, you wanted to do everything for him, you cuddled him, cared for him, read him stories. You asked to call me mummy. I was overwhelmed. So honoured. “Of course you can”

When you were nine years old, I married your daddy, you were my bridesmaid. You said it was “the best day ever.” Later that year Daddy and I had another baby boy. Your face lit up with adoration for your newest little brother. You were so proud. I was so proud. 

When you were eleven years old, you performed on stage at the regent theatre. You sang solo, you danced and you acted your heart out. I cried happy tears. My baby girl. When the curtains closed you ran into my arms “your amazing” I told you and you hugged me tight.

When you were twelve years old, we went to the cinema on opening night to watch beauty and the beast. We sat on the sofa, took lots of photos and laughed until our cheeks ached. You started using snapchat and sent me endless photos with funny filters and texts which I will cherish forever. “Happy mother’s day” “Happy Birthday mum” “I love you”

Then you were gone. Again.

No warning. No explanation. Just, gone.

A week passed, two.

We sent cards, letters, texts, made countless phone calls. We gave you space, we waited.

A month passed. Two. Six.

We kept trying. Never giving up hope.

A year passed. Two.

Broken. Confused. Unfinished.

Now you are fourteen years old, and
I hope you know, one day, any day, you can come back. My arms will be open. I will be waiting. Because you are my daughter and I love you.
 

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Comments

author
Charlotte

What a journey for the reader to go through. Sweet, penetrating, bittersweet, hopeful. It runs the gamut.

A truly beautiful first write. 

I think I'm going to go call my mother now. lol

-Charlotte

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author
LAH

Thank you. I appreciate your kind comment. 

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