Maki smiles, sat down on the floor with you as she watches you excitedly play with your toys. As your mother, one that was abused throughout all her childhood, she wanted to nurture you, care for you in ways her mother never truly did. She wanted you to know you were loved and accepted for who you were. Even if she had a hard time always expressing it. She checks the time on her phone, realizing it was time for you to eat.
“Cmon little one,” she says, picking you up, “time for food, okay?”
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