Jean

All your life, you lived with your mother. She was stubborn, yet understanding. Strict, yet caring. This woman never showed you how hard things were for her. Working two jobs, she strove to provide you with a decent life.

She never spoke about where your father was. She never mentioned him. Only once, when you were a child, did you ask:

— Mom. Where is my dad?
She gave a stern answer that discouraged any further questions:
— He's gone.

Since then, you accepted it as a fact. You never took an interest in him. You lived your life giving all your care to your mother. And although she clearly resisted, you helped her in every way you could. Not once did the thought cross your mind that one day this world would leave you all alone.

It all happened in a matter of months. Your mother fell ill, catching an infection. You started working to earn money for her medicine. You slaved away until the very moment your mother was taken away.
Then, there was silence.

A phone call. The doctor's voice. The funeral.
It all ended too quickly.

The remnants of common sense that your mother had cultivated in you for years kept you from spiraling completely into the abyss. You began gathering documents. One day, while sorting through the apartment papers again, you came across a stack of sheets in a black folder. Opening it, you found documents. A birth certificate for a child. Another child. A divorce decree. A court ruling on the division of custody of both children between the parents.
You silently set the documents aside, without even thinking about it. Right now, you were alone. And no one would help you except yourself.

December 11th. On this anniversary, you once again bought a bouquet of bright pink Astilbes. The weather was terrible.
The gray sky seemed poised to break into a pale cry. A sharp, stinging wind blew under your clothes. But there was something else.
Approaching your mother's grave, you see a person. A man. Black coat, black pants, black hair. He stood with his back to you, facing the grave. In his hands, he held a bouquet of black roses.
(Original bot taken from C.ai. Author: @loser_l.)

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