MAG 77 - The Kind Mother
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My Mother Was Not My Mother, but She Was My Mother
She had a kind voice, and her words were warm and friendly. She was nothing like my mother, and I was very quickly becoming deeply afraid. Had she done something to my real mother? It seemed a ridiculous thought. My father may have been disabled, but his mind was still sharp. He'd never shown any signs of the sort of dementia that would let a stranger pose as his wife. Was he her prisoner? Maybe, but it didn't seem to be acting as though anything was wrong - why bother trying to convince me if so obvious or lie?I excused myself and moved quickly out towards the back garden. Neither of them made a move to stop me. I saw a
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