Eight years ago…
I was ten years old at the time and I was in the waiting room with my father.
This was at one of the best hospitals in the country, much less Europe as we waited to hear what was going on.
I remembered my mother barely being able to get out of bed for months on end. Her rosy complexion became so blanched as her body became frail.
The doctor came and his head was down.
Even as a naive child, I knew what went on.
A thunderstorm erupted from my eyes.
My success was for her.
Yet it was hidden until I had to blab to that one girl who tried insulting me.
C. M. B. Bell's Writing Universe 