M Is For Mother

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They laughed when she insisted that it was her turn to pursue some of her ambitions. How she longed to study, to exercise her mind, to not endure praises for only her cooking and her clean house.

Placing a hand on her slightly protruding belly, she did not want to imagine the crying, the messes, the stolen time that she alone would be required to attend to once the baby was born. She loved her two sons, but they had also taken more energy out of her than she would admit to anyone.

If she could go back in time…

They would not laugh at her anymore if she did what she wanted to do at that moment. It was not the first time that she longed for a dramatic fall to death. What an interesting story that would bring to the little town full of doll-like smiles, white fences, and scarily manicured lawns.

She set the note on the kitchen table for her husband and her boys. If someone had only listened to her…

No. She was just a housewife. An accessory. A baby machine. Not worthy of exploring the many avenues life would give her if she only had the chance.

Three vials of sedatives rested in her drawer. She pulled on its pink knob, staring at the menacing yellow containers full of medication. Overdosing on drugs was not the way that she wanted to go. Instead, she downed one vial to relax herself, and then went to the kitchen to finish her process.

The door opened. It was him.

“Why, Edward, you are home early!”

His eyes wandered from the knife in her hand, to her smeared mascara, to the messy kitchen, and to the empty pill vial on the counter.

She laughed hysterically.

-Sara Kjeldsen

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