NINA
She was beautiful.
I had stood star-struck, waiting for her to turn, waiting to see my mother’s face. I was positive it was her, even if my reasoning defied all logic. My mother was dead; she had died during childbirth. I knew this because my father had made it his life mission to remind me that I was the reason my mother had died. Yet here she was. In this strange kitchen, this strange reality where I got tucked in, and my feet were warmed with woolen socks. This strange reality where I could wake up to the sweet scent of pancakes. I gripped the doorknob to the kitchen for support. I felt my jaw tick in anticipation. The woman flipping pancakes had stopped humming. She had gone rigid; one of her pancakes had hit the floor with a soft thud. Some rodents would be very happy because o
