The unforgiving brightness of the hospital lights pierced the new mother’s view, forcing a bombardment of radiance onto her unwilling eyes. Her senses cried, begging her to end the assault. The mother complied and sealed her eyelids shut with fatigue. Her body, worn and torn from the hours of labor, flushed all adrenaline, leaving an amount of energy just enough for her heart to continue on. She fell into a series of slumbers, awakening every few hours from the poking and prodding of the hospital staff. Thirty-eight hours later, after her great duel with death, she emerged victorious. 

The mother’s recovery sparked tears of joy among her family members, who had prayed to God: “Please, let her make it through this.” The mother exchanged weary laughs with them about her condition, praising the Lord for her life. She commented on her husband’s beaming smile, pointing out its rarity. The husband did not respond, but instead held up one finger to his mouth, and then pointed it in the direction of his chest. The mother dragged her eyes to his chest, to find a newborn baby dozing in his cradled arms. Casting off her drugged confusion, she let out a muted gasp and signaled for her husband to approach her. As her husband stepped nearer, she began to see the defining characteristics of the baby- her baby. “A girl,” her husband whispered. “We can name her Sophie like you wanted.”

Elated, the mother desired nothing more than to hold her daughter in her arms. However, she instead requested a sheet of paper and a pencil from the attending nurse. On that paper, with her trembling hands, she wrote:

She is everything, and she has everything. She is me, my love, and my world in one, and she has it all. God, thank you for delivering one of your angels to me. I love her, I love her, I love her. I will love her, even if she does not love me, even if the world does not love her. I love her, I love her, I love her.

The mother wept two weeks after Sophie was brought home. Her thoughts were overrun with worry, and her every movement was done drowsily. Her mind had become a sea of raging waters and howling winds, in which the many thoughts who called it home begged for a break in the storm. Whenever the mother found herself in a brief moment of peace, Sophie’s wails would soon break it. That night, it was well past midnight, and a crescent moon shone dimly out of the nursery window. The mother had sung countless lullabies to her daughter, imploring her to rest her voice and sleep. Nonetheless, Sophie’s deafening sobs continued. Sophie’s voice echoed throughout the halls of the house, leaving no creature immune to its reaches. Exhausted of all options, the mother placed her daughter in her crib, giving no further comfort as her daughter howled. Surrendering to her mind’s storm, the mother curled her body into itself and wept. She rocked back and forth with every cry, sinking into the depths of her psyche. The sun’s rays broke over the horizon, and the daughter finally drifted into a light lull. But there the mother stayed unchanging, draining the ocean in her mind out of her eyes. 

Five years after Sophie was born, the mother held her daughter's hand as she walked to her first-grade classroom. Giggles of excitement for the new school year filled the air, and colorful signs welcomed the children to their classrooms. The mother glanced at Sophie, who stayed silent with apprehension as they walked through the halls. She read out each classroom number as their journey’s end neared, eventually halting her feet as she found the correct room. “B35… this is your room angel!” The daughter whipped her head up at the mother, shaking her head violently from side to side. 

“Mama…” Sophie begged.“I don’t wanna go, Mama!”

Sounds of animation and stomping feet rang outside of the door. The mother looked down at her daughter, who studied the door as if were her grave. She herself feared this door just as much as Sophie. Since Sophie’s birth, the mother had bounced between the hectics of motherhood, desperately trying to become stable. She neglected the bubbling instability brewing in her soul as there was no attention to spare for it. After opening the door, the mother would no longer be able to ignore her growing invulnerability. The hours of 9:00 am to 3:00 pm, once expended on Sophie’s frivolous whims, could only be spent on herself. Nevertheless, the mother smiled at her daughter to soothe her doubts. 

“Aww.” The mother hugged her daughter, squeezing out a few of her daughter’s tears in the process. A desperate pout formed on Sophie’s face, but the Mother could not let herself fall to her daughter’s persuasion. She twisted the doorknob and unleashed her daughter onto the world.

Twelve years after Sophie was born, the mother scolded her daughter after her first gymnastics practice of the season. Her daughter had become infatuated with gymnastics after watching an animation on cheerleading in the fourth grade. Afterward, she told the mother about how cheerleaders’ popularity fascinated her, and that she wanted to be surrounded by “pretty girls” like them. The mother teased her daughter for her shallow impression of the cheerleaders but enrolled her in a gymnastics program nonetheless. On that day, Sophie returned from practice silently. The mother naively asked Sophie about her troubles and received a flock of unforeseen words.

Sophie wanted to quit gymnastics. Her short-lived dream of becoming a cheerleader had passed months ago, but she had not found the courage to tell her mother. Her mother made Sophie’s skill in gymnastics a topic of discussion in every conversation, and Sophie couldn’t bear to part with the pride her mother had in her. However, she never wanted to lie to her mother, whom she loved more than anyone else in the world. When her mother asked Sophie about practice that day, she chose honesty over deceit. She led herself carefully into her confession, conveying her thankfulness for her mother’s support. At the completion of her admission, Sophie felt confident in her mother’s understanding of the request. She looked up to meet her mother’s eyes. Her mother was furious. She criticized Sophie for her laziness, blaming her for the lost funds and hours of her life spent providing for her. Her berates continued, targeting Sophie’s clumsy disposition and accusing her of carelessness. Sophie could not understand why her mother was acting in this hateful temper. Her confusion became unbearable, and she began to sob as her mother’s comments seemed endless. Even when her mother’s comments ended their barrage, her bellows did not cease. 

Seventeen years after Sophie was born, the mother did not know herself. Her body creaked and wrinkled in the spots that the boys from high school used to catcall. Every bruise and bump took weeks to heal, and her mental scars were left as open wounds. Over the past year, her nights turned sleepless and her tears restless. Dull pains became doctor's appointments, and doctor's appointments became CT scans. She searched for regularity in Sophie, praying that her daughter would present her with another scholarly achievement, therefore validating the mother’s efforts therein. But her daughter came home late that night, and her daughter did not know herself either.

Sophie did not want to come home that night. This was not unusual in recent months, in which Sophie found a temporary purpose in chasing the “teenage girl” stereotype advertised during her childhood. She imitated every aspect of the stereotype, from unhindered daredeviltry to their constant chase of a male suitor. That night, she sat on her boyfriend’s bed and understood the piece of plastic held in her hands. A cross was imprinted on its surface, but it did not represent faith. Sophie was not panicked, nor was she calm. She did not celebrate nor sink into a spell of depression. She decided she would dispose of it, unnoticed by her mother’s watchful eye, and erase the problem from further thought. She knew exactly what to do, but her stomach churned at the thought of returning home. Shaking off her unwarranted apprehension, she jammed the evidence into her backpack and drove home. 

The mother was awake when her daughter entered the house two hours after curfew. She did not scold her, as she and her daughter both knew that curfew had no meaning with the mother’s recently exhausted condition. They exchanged a quick greeting as Sophie tiredly removed her backpack onto the kitchen floor and sauntered to her bedroom. As soon as the mother heard the click of Sophie’s bedroom door, she tiptoed to her daughter’s backpack. She needed something to fulfill her purpose, to find a place for her unhomed dignity. The mother ripped through the zippers of her daughter’s backpack and flipped through her notebooks. Her self-respect healed itself from the many A’s and positive notes from teachers as she scrutinized every exam. Satisfied with the results of the excursion, she restored the backpack to its original state. As the mother admired her work, she detected an irregularity bulging out of one of the notebooks. She pulled the object from the notebook, thinking nothing of its placement. But the shape of the item felt too familiar to escape unrecognized under the mother’s sleepiness. A surge of energy awakened from her burdened condition, traveling to the corners of her quivery joints and voice. She released an intense shriek, slaughtering the silence that stood with the full moon. Her daughter scrambled to the origin of the sound. 

“What’s wrong!?” Sophie exclaimed. Her mother did not acknowledge her and continued to direct her eyes downward. Sophie focused her gaze downward onto the object of her mother’s view.
“You know what's wrong.”

When Sophie was nineteen years old, she attended her mother’s funeral. Her mother died of pancreatic cancer two weeks prior, but she did not sorrow on her deathbed. Sophie had drifted away from her mother over the preceding months, eventually reaching a point of no communication. At the funeral, friends and family of her mother gathered to mourn her death, many not previously known by Sophie. Sincere, delicate speeches were delivered by her mother’s loved ones. Sophie sat in isolation from the attendees in an unused room of the funeral home. She distracted herself by texting friends and scrolling through various social media platforms. A groan left her as her phone battery was depleted, leaving Sophie to her thoughts. Despite her reluctance to address her mother, her subconscious repeatedly brought attention to memories that included her mother. She pushed each one away, labeling every indication of her mother’s affection as a fake front. But with each memory, she recovered appreciation for her mother. Tears grew in Sophie’s eyes as she recalled her love for her mother. She wished that she could talk to her mother one more time, to be held in her arms, to hold her hand on the first day of school. Sophie wailed about her regrets, how her juvenile behavior to her mother would never be forgiven. She cried: “Mama, forgive me. I’m so sorry, Mama. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Sophie could hear the guests leaving the funeral outside of the room, but there she stayed, and there she grieved. 

The new mother panted as the excruciating pains of childbirth subsided. She listened heart’s rapid pulsing on the hospital monitor, now descending in speed as her heart no longer needed to beat for two bodies. Her mind vibrated under the pain not covered by the anesthetics, spinning her vision of the room. Cheers of excitement erupted across the room from her husband, who held the mother’s daughter in his arms. Even with her unsteady vision, the mother knew that was her baby. She told her husband to approach her, and the husband carried out her wish. The husband carefully passed the daughter to her, who then held the daughter’s body to her chest. The mother saw the loving, gentle, caring eyes of her mother in her daughter. She whispered to her daughter:

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”