Mourning Morning

|GLORY|

I stared down at the jade-green locket nestled inside the old jewelry box—the one I only bring out on days like this. My gaze lingered, heavy with grief. It was the last thing my mother pressed into my small palm before she died, leaving me behind.

Maybe she should have taken me with her.

At least then, I would’ve been happy—up there, with her.

My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the lid, then I sat down. My legs ached from standing all night, robbed of sleep by a grief too loud to silence.

Every year, I mourn her. It’s not just remembrance—it’s a ritual. My way of clinging to a piece of me that died with her, even though all I ever wanted was to let go. To become someone else. Someone unrecognizable.

Someone new.

Sometimes, I wonder if my father still remembers.

Does he still think about the day his first wife died?

The day everything changed?

Does he remember me?

A soft scoff escaped my lips as I shut the box and locked it, tucking it deep into the cupboard until next y