Mother Novels Novels & Stories

"Who cares about gambling when she's there with that gorgeous boss of hers?" I could practically hear Hazel's eyebrows waggling. "Speaking of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Loaded..." "We're not speaking of him," I cut in quickly. "Why are you both on the phone?" "TV became boring, so Hazel brought me the romance novels I asked for," Mom said. "We're having a little book club meeting." "Mom, you're supposed to be resting. Dr. Williams specifically said you need to take it easy." "Oh, Maddie, I am resting. I'm lying in this fancy bed, surrounded by these incredibly soft pillows, while Hazel and I discuss whether the duke should choose the wallflower or the feisty redhead."

Brady followed behind me, calling my name, "Eloise..." I looked straight at him. My voice was steady and emotionless as I spat out, "Your mother killed our babies."

Jacob said, looking at Andrea with a smile. "Look who we have here. He finally remembers his mother," Mrs. Jones said happily as she walked over to them and gave Jacob a hug. Mrs. Jones, who is in her late forties, has stunning emerald green eyes and soft, chestnut hair that stops just above her shoulders. She caught Andrea's attention in a multicolored floral dress that highlighted her fair complexion. Even Andrea couldn't help but feel intimidated by her beauty. Andrea's smile slowly faded away, and a faint gasp escaped her lips as recognition finally dawned on her: "Her? The lady I met at the boutique is Jacob's mom."She thought to herself inwardly.

"You're lying, Ms. Lamont. You're not our mommy." Ivana sneered cruelly, "I'm not lying to you. Yara never gave birth to you. That's why you naturally hate her." Hearing that, Cheryl shoved Ivana in anger. "You're talking nonsense! Even if Mommy is annoying, how could she not be our mother?" Ivana froze. She hadn't expected this reaction after Cheryl learned the truth. Lucas quickly comforted her, saying, "Ms. Lamont, even though you're not our mommy, Cheryl and I still like you."

Chapter 5 – Mother’s Darkness Mother sat in her favorite armchair, the soft afternoon light filtering through the lace curtains. The house was quiet, too quiet, each corner echoing memories of laughter, arguments, and whispered secrets. Yet now, the silence was heavy, pressing down on her chest. Her once vibrant energy, the pillar that had held the family together through loss and hardship, was eroding under the weight of depression.

Only Uncle Zach frowned, trying to calm Mom down. But she would not stop, as if she were venting years of resentment. "You've been my disgrace since you were born! You've ruined my life! You're going to destroy me! I don't know what's so special about you. They must've been blind to admit you to university!" I quietly nodded. "Yes, I can never be better than Annie, just like you'll never be better than Aunt Monica." Mom froze, and Aunt Monica frowned at me. "What do you mean by that?"

I saw the pity and guilt reflecting in her eyes. "What are you talking about? What kind of mother are you to say something like that about your own child?" Mrs. Davis used her frail body to shield me as she tried to reason with Mom to make her back down. But Mom was never one to be reasoned with. Sneering, she gave me a cold glance that sent chills down my spine. As she raised her hand, Mrs. Davis still stood in front of me, perhaps unable to believe that Mom would resort to violence against her. But I knew better. Over the years, Mom had hit more women than I could count.

"No, I don't…" When she lifted her head again and met his eyes, he let out a piercing scream. How could he not, when what he saw was the face of his mother? The same mother who'd been dead for over a decade.

And only then could the Keeper fully reclaim his variable. --- The children were unaware of the true source of their mother’s suffering. They noticed fatigue, pallor, quiet cries in the night—but nothing explained the constant, creeping dread that had entered their home. Lerato hid it as best she could, masking weakness with determination, fear with purpose. But every night, in the quiet hours, she felt herself being drained by something that knew her heart, her love, her every instinct. It was the darkness. And it was hungry. --- Doctors tried to help. Nurses tried to care. Friends offered support.

I'm too young to try and figure out all these women. It was just mom in the kitchen, in her 'mom robe', tightly cinched. Not good. I dumped myself in a chair and she brought over food. Leaning over, her robe opened and I got a nice view of her cute little breasts. An older version of my sister's. Her nipples were rock hard, like Molly's when she was masturbating. She stayed leaning over and the view remained. I just stared at my mother's tits. "Mornin baby, you sleep well?"