Novel & Cerita Are You My Mother Book Pages

Inside lay a small, leather-bound book, its edges were green with mold, but the initials on the cover made my breath hitch. M. R. "Miriam Rashford," I breathed, my hands shaking as I pulled the book out. "My mother." The triplets crowded around me as I carefully flipped open the fragile pages. Most of the entries were old, detailing her desperate attempts to shield me from Kael’s cruelty when I was a toddler. But as I reached the final, hurried pages, the ink became smudged with dried tears.

He finally got it then and took the cover off. "A photo album?" he muttered as he reached for it. He went over to his study table and sat down as he flipped through. He opened the first page and noticed his dad standing with a beautiful lady in her 30s. "Is that my mum...?" he mumbled, removing the picture from the album. He stared at the picture as his eyes flashed with rage, hatred building up in his heart. "I'll make you pay for this Nichole. I'll get revenge for my mother," he mumbled indignantly.

I say, before pulling out the book into view, I snap the front page open, pictures lined up in order, black and white, I guess it must be from years ago. The first picture is of five year old me. I am wearing a perfect smile, we seem to be in the garden, and she’s smiling down at me with so much happiness in her face, I run my hands along the fine outline of her face. Oh mama. My eyes swell with tears once again, but I push it back in, and flip another page. Now, I am not in the photo, there’s an academy as the background. My mother- much younger now, seeming to be in her early twenties is with four women by her side. I squint closer. One of the women has light blue eyes, and a gentle gaze.

It was as if she only asked that question in passing. They came back home, and my mother went into my room for the first time in her life. Books were strewn about haphazardly on my desk. She picked up a random one and flicked through a few pages. After a beat, she clenched her knuckles. I highlighted a lot of points in the chapters outlining the effects of biological families on a person and thoughts of self-harm. The pages were hanging to the spine loosely and would get torn out if someone so much as tugged them the wrong way.

I can fight… but I’m no match for a Beta. I turn to run. Too late. The book slips from my arms and crashes to the ground. The sound echoes. Pages fly open. Straight to one name. My mother’s. The air goes still. I don’t breathe. I don’t look up. I already know… I’m doomed.

I contemplated whether to check out the book, but I saw another person just leaving without even glazing at the librarian who was busy doing his own work. ~~~~~ Back in my room, I sat down on the settee and opened the book. The pages had taken a brownish hue, conveying its age. Surprisingly it was more like a diary. I frowned. Whose diary was it? The name had become smudged. Even then I carefully flipped the page. My eyes halted on the first line of the first entry. ‘Mother is scary. She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t love father. She wants to kill us….’

I asked no one in particular but the dusty jewelleries stared back at me giving me my answer. I turned to move but my leg hit the vanity drawer and I heard a small plop, “Ouch!” I winced in pain as I rubbed my toes, bending down to pick what had fallen, it was a book and it was dusty. Dusting it off made me cough repeatedly and I stared at the book turning the page open but every page as well was covered in dust although preserved. I dusted a few pages off and the crisp but clean handwriting stared back at me. I read the first page and Immediately closed it. It was Jonathan’s mom’s diary.I flipped through the book and realized that she had written a lot and even almost used up the book. I wa

A thick, black, leather-bound book lay within and I wondered faintly, what lay between the pages just before I opened them. I froze at the first page, the picture that lay within striking me immediately with its familiarity. Tears gathered in my eyes, spilling off the corner and down my cheek as I stared at the image before me. It was a picture of my mother, young and smiling on a hospital bed with tired-looking eyes, a little bundle swathed in pink perched daintily in her arms. I’d never seen it before, but I knew it was her and it struck me then, how much of her features I had.

The pages flipped on their own, fast at first, then slower, until they stopped right in the middle of the book. Words began to glow. Not carved or written. Glowing. My breath caught in my throat as I read. “My little boy is all grown up…” The sentence shook me. There was a faint blur at the end of it, like the ink had been smeared by tears when it was written, and I swear my chest physically tightened. The next line appeared slowly, like it was being written in real time. “Victor… you need the Gem of Life to live.” My hands trembled. The writer is really is my mother. But…

Hasn't Uncle Alef already found happiness with Aunt Laras? Shaking her head gently, Fathia flips back to the page where this writing is her mother's last. She had flipped through other pages hoping for more writings other than the one she's currently focused on. But there's none. This is the only writing on the last page of her mother's book. She shrugs her shoulders slightly, trying to refocus on reading it. And as her eyes catch the rows of writing there, she freezes.