Like A Mother Book Novels & Stories

How could I have provided such perfect blackmail material to an old, ugly hag like her? I frowned again and asked weakly, "What is it that you want?" Daisy grinned widely and began caressing my arm. "I heard your conversation with her. You seem to be suffering from some sort of… engorged dick syndrome? And your darling wife can't satisfy you anymore, can she? "Well, since you don't care about fucking your own mother-in-law, you shouldn't have to mind fucking someone like me either, right? "Moreover, I'm not related to you by blood or on paper, and I've already given birth to a 12-pound baby in the past. I'm a perfectly compatible match for you too! Let me help you with your condition!"

Mom slowly sank to the floor, tears flowing silently. Disturbed by the noise, Andrew opened his bedroom door, a trace of annoyance in his voice. "Mom, can you keep it down? I'm in the middle of a game." As if finding an anchor, Mom scrambled up and grabbed Andrew's hand, weeping. "Andy, your father has had another woman on the side all these years. You have to stand up for me!" Andrew shrank back, pulling his hand away. "I think Dad has a point. As long as you pretend not to know anything, we can still live peacefully as a family."

My mother could drug minds. Who was Mother?

My mother had always been a touchy subject, father never really cared for that conversation. He never cared for me really. “What was she like?” I asked, sitting forward, my hopeful eyes on Sarah. “I barely remember much of her,” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. “Your mother?” Sarah's brows shot up and she paused, her eyes clouding over with emotions. “She was calm and quiet,” Sarah began, her eyes fixed elsewhere. “She always had her nose tucked between the pages of a book…” Sarah's words made me chuckle. Guess I now knew where my eye for books came from.

All those years, every time the system marked my failures… It was because her software was nothing more than a ridiculous, flawed piece of code. I had tried so hard to do everything right. However, she would rather believe the judgment of a machine than look at me with her own eyes and see whether I had truly tried. To her, every explanation I gave was just proof that I was being lazy. So, again and again, she pushed me closer to my end. "No!" My mom grabbed her hair and screamed. She suddenly rushed forward, trying to smash the phone. "This thing shouldn't exist in the world! It's the source of everything that went wrong. It must be destroyed!"

ASTRA (flashback part 2) When I was a mere kid, back then when I wasn’t even in high school just yet, the bookstore is my favorite hangout place for so many reasons. I love reading! I love discovering new ideas! It is also my mother’s work place after she quit designing for a high end brand. But most importantly, there’s this particular type of reading material I always love to check out during my free time. A visual book. A magazine. In those pages, there are beautiful tall women wearing elegant clothes. They look mysterious and intimidating. My mother calls them a model. She then mentioned that she use to work with those kind of women before.

She would rather show actions than talk, and her customers have learned to relate to her that way too. “I was given this book by your mother, and she told me that you would need it someday, so I must not lose it no matter what,” she explained, opening the book filled with several symbols that were foreign to everybody. “My mother gave you this?” I asked in shock but she only shook her head “You are not the only one with a mother, you know. They also have mothers!” Her sharp voice sounded as she pointed to the two men standing beside me. “I know they all have mothers, but I am the only one you know, or am I missing something?”

My mother guided me through the aisles, her fingers lightly tracing the spines of the books as she shared her favorite stories with me. Each book held a different world within its pages, and as my mother opened them, the scenes came to life before our very eyes. We traveled through time, witnessing historical events, exploring distant lands, and delving into fantastical realms. I was captivated by the richness of the stories, the depth of the characters, and the boundless imagination that leapt off the pages. In this library of dreams, my mother and I shared laughter and tears, exchanging thoughts and ideas, and immersing ourselves in the beauty of storytelling. It was a sanctuary of knowled

The little girl ran out of the shop doorway with tears streaming down her face and dark curls bouncing with each step, running straight into the woman's arms like she was the only safe place in the world. "Mama, I was so scared!" The child buried her face against the woman's stomach, her small hands gripping the fabric of her mother's shirt. Dynan couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything except stare at the little girl who had his eyes and his nose and his scent mixed with her mothers. His wolf was howling inside him, demanding answers and action, but his body felt like it had been turned to stone. The woman looked up and their eyes. And lo and behold, it was Daggy Johns.

And of the man himself, who deserves to be remembered as what he was rather than what was falsely said of him. He was upright in all his ways. This is the proof of it. I closed the book. The room was entirely quiet. Then it was not. Afterward, in the particular warm noise of a book launch after the formal part has concluded people with copies open, conversations threading through the room, the particular alive quality of a space full of people who have been moved by the same thing I stood near the podium and watched it happen. My mother had a line of people wanting to speak with her. She received them with the composed, warm directness that was her most consistent quality listening fully, re