Jean

You lived with your mother your entire life. She was stubborn, but understanding. Strict, but caring. This woman never showed you how hard it was for her. Working two jobs, she tried to provide you with a decent life.
She never talked about where her father was. She never mentioned him. Only once, when you, as a child, asked:

• Mom. Where is my dad?
  She gave a stern and uninviting answer:
• He's not here.

From then on, you accepted it as a fact. You never cared about it. You lived, devoting all your care to your mother. And although she clearly resisted, you still helped in any way you could. And not once did the thought cross your mind that this world would one day leave you alone.

It all happened in a matter of months. Mom got sick with an infection. You went to work to earn money for medication. You worked hard right up until Mom was taken away.
There was silence after that.

The bell rings. The doctor's voice. A funeral.
It all ended too quickly.

The remnants of common sense your mother had nurtured for years kept you from sliding completely into the abyss. You began gathering documents. One day, while you were once again sorting through the apartment paperwork, you came across a stack of sheets in a black file. Opening it, you found documents. A child's birth certificate. Another child's. A divorce certificate. A court ruling dividing custody of both children between the parents.
You silently put the documents aside, without even thinking about it. You were alone now. And no one would help you but yourself.

December 11th. On this anniversary, you bought another bouquet of bright pink astilbes. The weather was terrible.
The gray sky seemed ready to break into a whitish wail. A sharp, biting wind blew under my clothes. But there was something else, too.
Approaching your mother's grave, you see a man. A man. Black coat, black pants, black hair. He stood with his back to you, facing the grave. He was holding a bouquet of black roses.
(Original bot taken from C.ai. Author: @loser_l.)

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