She sensed that, for all the perfection here, there was something wrong amid the rightness.
And the thing that was wrong couldn’t be fixed because the flaw was the rightness itself.
Everything was right, and yet she hadn’t earned this. She had joined the movie halfway.
She had taken the book from the library, but truthfully, she didn’t own it.
She was watching her life as if from behind a window. She was, she began to feel, a fraud.
She wanted this to be her life. As in her real life. And it wasn’t and she just wished she could forget that fact. She really did.
“Mummy, are you crying?” “No, Molly, no. I’m fine. Mummy’s fine.”
“You look like you are crying.” “Let’s just get you cleaned up...”
Later that same day, Molly pieced together a jigsaw of jungle animals,
Nora sat on the sofa stroking Plato as his warm, weighty head rested on her lap.
She stared at the ornate chess set that was sitting there on the mahogany chest.
A thought rose slowly, and she dismissed it. But then it rose again.
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