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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1683930
by H
Rated: E · Fiction · Tragedy · #1683930
Not sure if I will continue writing it, this is just the introduction and first chapter.
Somehow I always knew Emily wasn’t quite like the other little girls on the playground. For some unknown reason I could never put my finger on, we just never had that mother-daughter bond. Not once in her life did I feel on her level. Emily was a child who always had her head in the clouds, a trait she gained from her father. Whenever I thought of George I imagined him as an invisible chain that magically linked me and Emily together, not as mother and daughter, but not too far from it. If certain events had never occurred maybe it would have progressed, I would have experience the love for her child that any mother knows. But maybe if these life changing moments had never come to pass we would be at first base still. Sadly I’m unsure of which one is better. I know all this sounds terrible, like I didn’t love her or George, but the truth is they were my food, my shelter, my oxygen, my survival. I did love Emily, I truly did. We just never knew how to express it...
Chapter 1:
The week had been relentless for Monique. After the funeral people found it necessary to pass on their sympathy, commenting on what a nice church she had selected. Monique simply gave a polite weak smile in return. What was she suppose to say? She and George were never big on religion, rarely going on special occasions. And now she was left to wonder, had they of visited more often, prayed a stupid prayer once in awhile would this bad fortune still be hung above their heads? Would she be left alone in this world with no one who cares? Thoughts about if her husband and daughter made it into the gates of heaven would arise in her mind, and she quickly suppressed them, if they didn’t make it, what hope did she have? 
George’s death had been slow and scarring for everyone. His cancer was a grippingly painful one that took its time shutting down his body. Chemo didn’t help, it just prolonged the inevitable, gave a tiny gleam of hope that was torn to shreds in the final days of his life. At the time they choose quantity over quality. Monique now knew that if she could go back she’d change that one small detail. Their daughter, Emily, was the one closest to him. Even closer than Monique, she’s sure.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1683930