Thoughts

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my new room, carefully adjusting the fabric of the dress. Darla is with me, gently combing my hair. From time to time she'd glance at my reflection staring back at me.

“See how robust and beautiful you are!”. Darla exclaims and a smile creeps across my face.

"You're glowing, Azalea,". She remarks, her hands deftly working through my hair.

I chuckle, "Well, I guess it's the pregnancy doing its magic."

She continues combing my hair. "Not just that. You've always been pretty, Azalea. You have really good genes, I must confess."

We share a laugh, but then Darla's tone becomes more serious. "Seeing how pretty you are I'm sure you took that from your mother instead of your father"

At the mention of my parents, I freeze. It's as if I'm caught in a trance. I had no idea I had a phobia for the word ‘mother’ or ‘father’ up until now, all my life I've lived without one but then the fact that I might not really be an orphan weighs down on me too.

Land