Page 25 of A Whisper of Cinders

My fingers tremble as I reach out and take the piece of paper. It is a picture, and the woman is smiling at the person behind the camera, she looks happy. Carefree. And although she looks a little younger in the picture and isn’t covered in soot, it is unmistakably her. I turn the picture around and notice there’s something written on the back in neat and elegant handwriting.

I am so sorry

Mom

Mom.

Mom.

A tear rolls down my cheek.

I don’t remember her, not even the sound of her voice. There’s no rush of memories. I don’t know her name or if she was kind to me, what things we loved to do, if she would bake with me or go for long strolls.

But I do know she loved me.

Loved.

Because she is dead.

Another tear escapes my eye and I look up at Miss Sophia, noticing the worried expression.

“Why didn’t you show this earlier? This could’ve helped me bring back my memories.”

“You had to find out by yourself, Maily. I could guide you and listen, but I couldn’t force a memory on you. Your headaches are caused by the fact that your mind is trying to remember everything, but isn’t able to. It is some kind of protection.” She leans against her desk, taking me in with a calculated look. “Showing this picture to you, when you had never even brought up your mother or any person from your past, would’ve erased any progress we’ve made in the years you’ve been here.”

I hear what she’s saying and her words make sense, but…

“Do you have a picture of my dad too?”

By the sad smile she’s currently giving me, I already know the answer. “No, we do not. This picture is the only one we have.”

My mind works overtime, trying to connect dots that aren’t there. “She died in the fire? How did she get there and why am I still alive?”

Miss Sophia tries to be the epitome of calm, but cracks appear in her normally so zen state. “I can only guide you, you have to figure this out on your own accord.”

Images flash through my mind. The house. The woman — my mother — in front of me. She’s yelling, screaming at me, but what is she saying?

Wait.

My mouth falls open and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. “Did…I light the fire?” Miss Sophia remains silent, but there’s something in her eyes and I just know I’ve solved the puzzle. “I did, didn’t I? I burned my house - our house - down and my mother with it. I killed her.”

I hold my breath, somehow hoping — praying that I’m wrong. “Say something!” I shout, trembling uncontrollably.

Miss Sophia takes a step closer, holding out her hands in a ‘I won’t harm you’ kind of way. “It is true, yes, but you weren’t in the right mind back then, Maily, now with your medica —”

A strangled noise escapes from my throat. “Oh my god, this can’t be happening.” I pull at my hair, dig my fingers into my scalp trying to escape this revelation.

“With your medication everything is under control. You are fine and stable.”

“Fine. I’m fine? I killed my own mother! How is that me being fine?” I bite on my lip until I taste blood, in the hope it would take my mind off the pain I currently feel in my heart. It does nothing. Maybe I should rip open the bandage on my back, tear at the wounds there. Would that make me feel something?

“Did I…kill my father too?”

Tears run uncontrollably down my cheeks, I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to. Not when my whole world is falling apart.

“As far as we know, your father wasn’t in the picture, so no. He wasn’t there on the night of the fire. Your mother was the only casualty.”

“This can’t be happening.”