The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) by Miriam Yvette

She must be somewhere else in her mind, roaming through the memories of her past.
    “Getting those fools fired won’t alleviate my pain.” she whispered. “It’s because I’m old, and when you’re old, nobody cares about you anymore. I was never raised to prepare for my current age, and to make matters worse, the government robs us of our natural born rights by caging us in profit-driven senior homes. My entire life changed when I got old, it’s supposed to shift not change like it has. Take this accident for example, even in this mess, my own family doctor can’t visit me because he’s afraid of my children.”
    She raises the arm with the broken wrist, the white cast, now in front of her. Her fingers tried to wiggle, instead, it caused her whole arm to shake. Her eyes then fixated on her wedding ring, the sight, relaxed her wrinkled face. That one ring, swept away the stress in her eyes.
    “You know, my husband took my last name.” she said, changing the subject. “My family made him because he was poor. They felt his last name would burden me. Regardless of what my family and peers thought, I loved him. He was a passionate man, driven to prove the whole world that I was destined to marry him. He swore to my family that he would become as successful as they are. It took him 20 years to finally be regarded as what society likes to call a ‘respectable man’. He loved me, and I still love him.”
    Ms. Clarisse’s arms lingered in the air. Now I understand why the inexpensive ring remains faithfully in her finger. Suddenly her arms rested, and she looks at me. She comments that because I am a woman, I am destined to understand the struggles of womanhood. When I asked her what she meant by that, she stopped me, and told me to listen.
    “The most miraculous thing that can happen to a woman is to give birth. In every labor a mother is reborn. Like a cocoon, we shed all we thought life was about, and become anew. Our eyes, and the way we perceive life is altered.
    That’s how I felt when I had Troy, my first child. I swore to myself that I would do anything to protect him. I was willing to give my life for him. I wanted to be a guardian, and that was my mistake.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to do that to your kids?” I said. Ms. Clarisse didn’t answer my question. She was in a trance and continued.
    “After Troy, I had Ana and Ben. My husband—rest his soul, was an outstanding father figure. Yes, we spoiled them rotten—but we didn’t care. I thought our love was worth more than any of our possessions. When I realized I was getting older, and my children had become adults, these frail hands of mine, began wrinkle year after year. Look at me, I am no longer fit enough to be anything, much less their guardian.”
    Ms. Clarisse shut her eyes and slowly shook her head. Her lips tightened and frowned.
    “In our old age, my husband and I hardly saw them, Troy was busy running the company, Ana got married, and Ben was nowhere to be found. Parkinson’s disease wasn’t enough, before he passed away, my husband became gravely ill. Instead of preserving their last moments with their father, our children argued among each other over the inheritance and the company. On his death bed, our children didn’t show up. They were somehow disgusted by a dying old man, and refused to pay their respects. Their absence hurt my husband tremendously—he swore they were just waiting for him to die, just so they could receive his inheritance. In my denial, I attacked his accusations. I assured him our children loved him more than they reveal. Without him knowing, I contacted and tried to persuade our children to visit him. Each passing day, my husband sincerely waited, hopeful for that matter. Then one night, he passed away. Not having him around made me very depressed. I couldn’t hold it together—it’s hard to enjoy life without seeing the man who spent it with you. After his death, I didn’t want to be alone. I thought I