Short Story For Mother Novels & Stories

The paintings watched us in their silent way. “My mother used to say the worst thing you could do to yourself was live inside a story someone else wrote for you.” He paused. The silence stretched comfortably. “I think she would have liked you.” The statement landed softly but carried deep meaning. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I did not wipe them away. “Tell me about her,” I said. My voice came out quiet. Adrian turned to me, and his eyes looked straight into mine.

Across the visitation glass, Dad's expression remained calm, his gaze lowered: "She didn't want to live anymore. What does that have to do with me?" His cold words came through the speaker, the electric current making them sound somewhat distorted. Looking at Dad's indifferent face, my heart ached as I choked back tears and said: "Mom would cry out in pain even when she got a scratch from a wire fence. She'd frantically search for a healer, terrified that the rust might infect her and endanger her life." "On her birthday, her wish was always for our family to be safe and free from disaster and pain, and for me to find a mate soon."

For this, I don't feel the need to lie to my mother. "Photo?" “Ho oh, a photo of my mother with Aunt Donna, Aunt Ratna, Uncle Jackson and… Uncle Rhicard” Mother's face instantly turned pale when she heard Uncle Richard's name come out of my lips. Mother's hand that stroked my head stopped for a moment. I could see her eyes were staring with various kinds of emotions dancing in them. "Honey, would you like to hear a story?" Mother asked in a sad voice "A story about an orphan girl who fights against this world.."

The best part was when my mother would tell me a story, a story that until now had reverted in my mind. The Mother would always start on the word, "Far and beyond this world, there is a place, a place where you can see nothing but a void..." After saying those words, I couldn't help but fall asleep. It had made me more confused about the next words my mother would say. Because I wasn't asking her about unimportant things, I also didn't ask her about the whole story. I knew that she only told me the story to make me fall asleep.

“So weak. Brought so low. Why would you allow someone to do that to you?” “Help me…” I beg. She bends down to look me in the eyes, her nose wrinkling with disgust. “But you’re so dirty…” “Please, Lilith. Help me…” Author's Note: Hey friends! Thank you so much for reading Mother, May I, the third book of The Legacies series. I hope that you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Here are a couple of announcements/interesting information for you.

I have to stay strong Just to be safe, I start to recite stories my mother used to tell me when I was smaller -just before she died. These are the stories and lullabies that I will never get to share with my child. Oh my child, who just died out of wickedness from another. Sometimes my situation is so overwhelming that I just scream until my throat is tears. The stone walls absorb everything, giving nothing back but a reminder that I am locked up in this hell

Shayla resisted longer, peppering me with last-minute questions about whether clouds slept and if frogs had birthdays. Lucas waited until the others were settled before speaking quietly. “Can you tell a story?” Something in his tone—hopeful, vulnerable—unlocked a memory deep inside me. “My mother used to tell me stories,” I said softly. “Would you like one of those?” Three heads nodded eagerly. So I began. I told them about the moon that fell in love with the sea but could never touch it, about the brave girl who taught the stars how to sing, about the fox who tricked winter into leaving early.

My mother let out a shaky breath, the most painful and final part of her story on the horizon, "I was a little over two months pregnant and the knock came at the door. He'd been killed when the old town hall collapsed. Rogue attack, mixed with old buildings. I didn't ask for details. I just wept, clinging at my stomach, praying to the Moon Goddess that it wasn't real."

“Where are you my children?” Mother asked so sweetly. She took everyone as her children and many wished she were their real nother while others resented me for it. The kids came out their hiding place behind the tall pillars and Mother laughed so brightly as though she didn't sense their presence before. She was so pure and wholesome. “Mother we've put senior's luggages inside.” “Oh! That's just perfect, thank you my babies.” “Mother will you read us a story tonight?”

— Leia Steele — When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me stories about werewolves and what they called mates, which were what their partners for their entire lives would be called. I remember that I would sit there by the fire, being cozy right next to her as we were wrapped in a blanket, and listen to her talk on and on about it for hours. “My mother, your Nana, was the one who told me about it, and it’s my turn to share it with you, little bug,” she whispered gently in my ear.