Morethanadaughter — Legit & Working

Mira put a hand on her shoulder. Not a mother’s hand. Not a daughter’s hand. Just a hand, warm and solid, offering nothing but the truth.

“You don’t have to stay,” her mother whispered, eyes still closed from the morphine’s gentle pull. morethanadaughter

Her mother closed her eyes again, but her grip didn’t loosen. “You’ll find it.” The funeral was in April, under a sky that couldn’t decide between rain and sun. Mira stood at the grave site in a navy dress her mother had bought her for a cousin’s wedding, the one her mother had said made her look “like a serious person who still knows how to laugh.” Mira put a hand on her shoulder