Week 9, Flash Fiction

With light wings and a heavy heart, she told her elderly mother her own step father passed away in the hospital bed moments past. It was as if a burden was lifted, because he was finally gone, but a weight was gained because she herself was left with the task of spreading the news. She felt this feeling before, years ago, when she tried to tell her mother what he used to do. How he used to leave bruises and cuts on her when her own mother went to work, with the heavy scent of alcohol laced on his clothes. “Tell her you fell down the stairs” he used to scream, “Tell her you got in a fight”. As soon as she told her mother the truth though, all those years ago, and even though there was evidence scattered across her own pelted face, there was no relief. Mother didn't believe her. This time though, this time was different. Telling her own mother that he was dead was a blessing in disguise. Her mother had to believe her this time, there was no man any more in the background whispering lies into her mother's ears, creating doubts in mother’s mind. She had the upper hand this time.