This home feels different now.
Quieter, open, tear soaked.
Echoes of giggles and wonder appear in each room as you enter.
“Goodnight, little man.” A mother once said to an innocent bundle.
A smile appears.
A finger holds a hand.
Rooms once filled with love, now feel broken.
Toys scattered, bittersweet.
Table left unclean, to leave the memories.
As haunting as they now were, the pain is a reminder.
Each room has a story.
Each moment left her proud.
The happiest of mothers, so easily ruined.
One phone call leaves her shattered.
Untrusted.
No truth.
Life changing.
A baby taken from their mother.
Puddles made of tears.
Masks made of personalities.
They forced her to become a robot.
Don’t cry, it’ll look unstable.
Do not grieve, it’ll make you look out of control.
She would do anything for her son.
The mask stayed on.
Until nobody was looking.
The amount of tears shed could become a new ocean.
The sea of a mother’s tears, yearning for her child.
She sleeps with a doll.
She lays on her cats fur for warmth.
She cries into his blankets, searching for his smell.
Too long has gone now, the smell has faded.
The memories are all that remain.
The echos are no longer.
The memories hurt too much, the toys have been picked up.
The table has been cleaned.
This home feels different now.
It feels empty.
She feels lost.
For she has lost everything.
Over one phone call.
The mask falls off.
She begs, she cries, she yells into the darkness of her empty home.
Defeat.
Depression.
Anger.
It overwhelms her.
Sickness.
Weight-loss.
Days wasted in bed.
This isn’t what they wanted.
This isn’t what they asked.
They wanted a robot.
But she was not a robot.
She was a mother.
She was grieving.
She was human.