In this short story, Anusha M narrates a poignant tale of love and redemption between a mother and child.
This is not how I imagined spending my Friday night. Without warning, her breasts are in front of me. The lights in the room are blindingly bright, and I’m blinking excessively, trying to process everything. It is cool in this cramped room yet beads of sweat are forming on my forehead. It has been a few years since I had seen breasts at all – this was unexpected, I didn’t know how to react. But the sight in front of my eyes was far from ideal; these breasts were ghosts of a forgotten past. They had nurtured three beings, and here I was – one of the beneficiaries, standing, trying not to throw up. The beeping of the machines in the hospital room was making me anxious. I wanted to run away, escape from this responsibility that had unceremoniously been dumped on me. But then, I had to be there for her.