I’d crept forward and snatched up the bracelet. I’d curled back up clutching it, pretending it had belonged to my mom. Pretending I had something of value in the world, even though it was just a cheap bit of metal. The bracelet had rusted and turned discoloured over the years. Sometimes if I fiddled with it for too long, it stained my fingers green. And even though I obviously knew it didn’t belong to my mother, the lie I’d told myself as a child had become a twisted half-truth
POOR MOTH
