Maria nodded. She didn’t look surprised. Had she already worked it out?
She seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, but I didn’t.
We sat in silence for a moment. “It’s the guilt, though,” I said, whispering.
It was very hard to speak, physically hard, trying to force out sound.
I was her big sister; I should have been looking out for her. She was so small.
I did try, I really did, but it just... it wasn’t enough. I failed her, Maria; I’m still here and that’s all wrong.
It should be her who survived. I don’t deserve to be happy, I don’t deserve to have a nice life when Marianne...”
“Eleanor,” she said gently, once I’d calmed myself, “feeling guilty about surviving when Marianne didn’t is a perfectly normal reaction.
Don’t forget, you were only a child yourself when your mother committed her crime.
It’s very important that you understand that it’s not your fault, that none of it was your fault.”
I was sobbing again. “You were the child and she was the adult.
It was her responsibility to look after you and your sister.
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