Let's hope for the best

Chapter 1: I wanted the fairy tale

I'm sitting on my sofa, my laptop in front of me.

I'm writing one of my stories today, but I can feel, something is off with me.

That's my ghosts: visiting me again.

Ghosts of my previous lives.

They still bother me, sometimes.

They're scratching the inside of the closet where I have confined them, and I can hear them. Trying to get my attention.

But I put my headphones on, and I start writing again.

But somehow, I find myself writing my own story, this time. My own life.

My lives, to be precise.

I had four: and each one taught me very different things, about the world we live in.

I was lucky, all things considered: I got to experience a lot of pain, a lot of love, a lot of happiness, and a lot of grief. My lives haven't been empty.

.....

My first life began when I was born, in 1990.

Pretty Woman was playing in the cinemas, and the Soviet Union had not been dissolved yet.

People were walking around in large shoulder pads, and mobile phones were the size of my hairdryer. If you owned one.

My parents had been married five years, hoping for a pregnancy that did not seem to arrive.

Then, the "miracle" happened- or so, they used to say.

My mom finally became pregnant with a baby girl.

They were super happy.

My grandparents surely were head over heels: I was their first grand-daughter.

And so, for the joy of all, I came into the world.

Welcome home, Bi.

4 years later, my little brother arrived as well, and the picture was complete.

My parents, for what I can gather, were in a happy moment of their lives.

They had a good job, a nice big house, a healthy girl and a boy.

We had a boat, a summer house by the seaside, a nanny, a house cleaner.

We went skiing in winter, or visiting tropical beaches.

My dad was working a lot; I rarely saw him.

My mom worked as well, even if not as much as dad.

But that allowed us to enjoy that kind of lifestyle.

All in all, my parents were living their dream life.

Enjoying their picture-perfect, upper-middle class family.

They were living the fairy tale.

But then, I guess, when everything is too perfect, that's when it all starts to fall apart.

....

I was 9 years old; my brother was 5.

I didn't have one worry in the world, besides which ballet skirt should I wear next: white, or pink??

And one day, I came home, and my nanny had a long, worried face.

I asked her what happened, and she tried to brush it off.

Nothing- she said- just, mom had to go to hospital.

Why?

Nothing serious- she said- she'll be back in a few days.

Alright... is she going to be back in time for my brother's birthday party, is she??

Yeah -I was reassured- she definitely was!

I felt like something was off.

Something was wrong.

But I tried to tell myself, it couldn't be anything serious. Mom had never been sick before. And everyone kept telling me it was "nothing".

...

A few days after that, I got up.

I walked downstairs, and saw that my father was sobbing. My nanny was crying, and my grandmother was rushing in the house in that very moment.

She was wearing only a dressing gown- you should know that my grandmother, was a very elegant, old-style lady. I couldn't imagine her getting out of her house like that.

In her nightgown, with her hair messy, and no make-up on

What was going on?? I asked.

My nanny said she had bought my favourite lemon cake for me. She had tears running down her cheeks.

It was her who told me: she said, mom has gone to heaven.

I didn't comprehend, at first.

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I ran upstairs, to my room.

I grabbed my mom's sweater: her favourite one, that she always gave me to hold, if she was going away for a night.

I had been holding it every day, since she was admitted to hospital.

And now...

I couldn't really bring myself to accept the idea.

But it was true:

Mom would never come back.

I would never see her again.