“What must I do, mom?”
Jiya’s tear-streaked face looked up expectantly at Poonam’s wiser one, her hands clasping the older woman’s loving grasp in a bond that Life had never been able to explain convincingly enough.
Poonam’s soft voice, made more gentle by the years of experience and turmoil, counseled Jiya, saying, “Let go, Jiya, and give yourself over to the vagaries of Time, which will heal these temporary wounds at their own certain pace.”
“Are your wounds healed forever, Mom, or are the scars a painful reminder that this is exactly how cruel Life can be towards us?”
Touching the long, knife-shaped mark on her cheek, left there indelibly by the monster she had married forty years ago and whom she had buried a little over five years earlier, Poonam smiled and gathered Jiya into her arms with the words, “It is not those scars that give me hope, but the sight of you growing up to be a confident, beautiful woman despite all that you have seen.”
Written for Five Sentence Fiction’s Prompt: Glimmer