ELARA
Years ago, before the demise of my mother from a disease of the mind, when I was still very young, she lived in abject misery. Every time she got hold of me in the absence of my father, she stopped at nothing to show her hatred of me in any way she could—beating, hurling cruel invectives, hiding me in dark spaces, among many other awful things.
I didn't know why, and despite how many times I asked my father, he told me my mother was going through something but that she loved me deeply. I would look down at my tiny hands in confusion, wondering about the funny ways she demonstrated her love.
Nonetheless, despite my father's claim of my mother's love for me, he didn't let her come an inch close to me again after that incident when she nearly threw me down from the balcony of my room
