"It's been so many years."

Yes. Too many. "You sure? Could've sworn I was here just a month ago."

Mom laughs, then sighs. "Oh, Timothy. So many years, whether you admit it or not, and you still bring me joy." She turns to look at me, the gentle sunrise relfecting on her teary eyes. "Thank you for coming back. At least one last time."

"Last time? Now that you've shown me this sunrise, I don't care anymore that it's six in the morning, I'll come here every year just to see this."

She laughs again and drops her gaze, a look of genuine happiness of clouded by a few seconds of doubt, then looks back up at me. "I'm happy to hear that. It's rare to appreciate these rare moments, where all your doubts can be washed away by such a simple sight. To let one's heart rest is nothing short of a luxury these days. I wish..." she stops herself, holding a necklace in her hands, "I wish Jeremiah would still be here. He's the one who told me about this in the first place, and I never got up to see it. My work overburdened me." She turns to look straight at the rising sun. 

"He's happy. You know that."

A lone tear runs down her cheek. "I hope he is." She says a prayer in her mind to her husband. In it, she regrets the times where she put him aside for rest. She regrets turning off the alarm clock every time it rang at five in the morning, even if it only was once a year.

She remembers Jeremiah's coffee waiting for her every morning. Every morning she forgot or did not want to get up. All those years, and still very day she woke, a cup of coffee would be there waiting for her. She'd always look at it, then look around to see if she could catch a glance of him before he left for work for weeks. Every time, all she got was the dust the wheels left in their wake.

"Mom?"

She comes out of her memories and wipes a tear before it leaves her eyes. "Sorry, I was... remembering." Silence overtakes them both, a gentle breeze is the only noise either of them can pick up, and neither dare to break the blessing of a cool morning breeze with words. But that is only because they have nothing to say to each other. Eventually, Mom pierces the silence.

"How is the city?"

I am taken by surprise. She never liked that, why would she ask? "It's... different." Is all I manage.

"No surprise. Work was always hard to find around here. And farming never really was your thing, was it?"

I laugh in my head. "You, madam, are correct. I guess I simply never... found where I fit in this place." I wanted to add 'to this day', but my courage lacked willpower.

"You always fit here. And you always will." She smiles to the horizon. "This is your home."

But it wasn't anymore. This place is as good as dead to me. I don't care for it. I don't care for the cattle or the crops, for the trucks or neighbours, or even about the house where I grew up in.

"You know, I never figured out what made you leave." She pauses for a second, reconsidering her question. "No, I do, I meant what was the last straw?"

"Apart from the grueling sixteen-hour work days? Or the several neighbours that got rabies? Or when the flu hit us particularly hard with nowhere to go? Mom... this place is a hellscape."

"But it's our hellscape, Timothy." She turns to me and lays a hand on mine. "Or at least it was." She drops her gaze and sighs. "I never wanted to live here. I was a city girl. I loved my luxuries and perks. Hell, the first few years I almost pushed your father into the tracks and claimed this insurance to get out of here." She smiles. I look slighty surprised and horrified. "But with time, I gave it all up. I still worked in the city, and going there regularly made me want to escape into my family's penthouse. But something in me stopped me every time. Slowly, I realised I didn't fit with these people. When I was inside, I was blind to everything they did in their day to day life. Cheating, stealing, ripping people off. Selling them to the highest bidder. Playing around with their privacy." She shifts in her seat and closes her eyes. "And when I was inside, I loved it. When I got a glace from the outside, when the neighbours wanted explanations as to what was going on..."

"You're not that person anymore, Mom. You didn't have a choice."

"I damn well did. I knew the harm the company was doing to these people, clueless about how everyone knew everything about themselves, how all that they wanted seemed perfectly targeted and timed. Clueless about how much we really knew about themselves. The most ridiculous and unecessary things. We knew with who they cheated on, and sometimes knew who they would cheat on with. We knew them so well, we could predict their behaviour, Timothy. I don't even know where to classify my feelings with that."

"You gave them every possible comfort though. Every need they could ever have was suited and specifically given. You think that was bad?"

She stares more at the sun. It had fully risen now, cleared the tracks entirely. "Sun is up. Day has started. Come on son, help me get up. we have to prepare this anniversary."

She completely ignored my question. That wasn't like her. But I could never get an answer off her now. She was beyond stubborn when she needed to be. I help her get up, fold the chairs and start walking towards the house. The dogs see us in the distance and run towards us, swarming Mom but never jumping at her, almost as if they knew to be more careful with her. I was given no such treatment as Rolli jumped at me with full force and tripped me over before attacking my face with her tongue. I hear Mom laugh and it makes me happy.

"Come now Rolli. Let poor Timothy get up." The dog obeys her immediately and walks next to her, looking at me quizzically. "Come girl, to the house." Mom points at the house and she takes off, the other dogs following suit. I get back up, wipe my face with my shirt, and keep on walking.

"Pamela! You came!" Mom shouts as she sees someone at the door of the house. "You need to answer me messages, young lady!" She says trying an old person accent.

"I can't read letters Mom. At least not yours. Too squiggly for my eyes." Pamela answers.

"It's called cursive, Pamela. And it has it's value."

"Sure. You guys went to see the sunrise?"

"Indeed we did." I say, trying to lift the chairs I'm holding. "You should've come, it was pretty cool."

"Timmy, when do I ever feel like getting up at four in the morning, to make an hour drive, to see the sun rise? When do I ever wake up before eight?"

"When Clara comes over?" I answer.

"Clara?" Mom asks.

"My boss. She goes to each worker's house personally when they have missed work for a... few days in a row." Pamela looks down at her hands. "But that's beside the point, which is that we have something to plan." She says as she opens the door and gives me the threatening look I was looking for. 

"Fine, fine. Let's get it done then." Mom sighs.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"I'm going to sleep. I have a headache."

"Alright Mom, don't careful with the stairs." Pamela says, not taking her eyes off the sheet they had been planning all afternoon.

"You know, it isn't so complicated to look at the person you're talking to."

"Is it, Timothy?" She doesn't lift her eyes.

"At least for respect. She's our mother, for fucks sake."

"A mother you had no problem abandoning."

My heart is pierced. "W- what?"

"Nothing."

"Pamela."

"I didn't say anything. Calm down little Timmy." She lifts her eyes for a moment to inspect me, then drops them again to the paper. "I thought all the city would toughen you up."

"You also worked in the city. You can't throw that shit at me."

"I did indeed. But that was different. I had to."

I chuckle at her. "The fuck you did." She stops moving. Drops the pen and slowly turns to me.

"You really want to go down this hole, little Timmy? About how life was when you left?"

I'm not sure if to continue or to back off.

"Well? Do you want to hear what happened to this place? While you were in the city living your best life?"

I can't open my mouth. Her stare pierces me like no other. And only she could match my stare, and make it so useless.

"Can't talk? Those meds got you stuttering?"

"How do you-"

"I know a lot of things, Timothy. And I think it's about time you know a little bit more."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

I hear my children argueing downstairs. Pamela always had a temper. Timothy never had a strong personality, he was easily overwhelmed. Anxiety, I always guessed. But never figured why he had that.

I make it to my room, and unlock the door. I step in, then consder my actions one last time. I decide to leave the door unlocked. I turn the fan and the AC on, and head over to my desk. I sit down, and pull out the last pieces of paper I'll ever write on.

'To my children, Pamela and Timothy...'

I write down everything. What happened after Timothy left. How Jeremiah reacted to him when finally came back. How he just sat there and hugged me, assured me it wasn't my fault, and that everything would play out just fine. 

I write how it all changed after Pamela left. How her father never even managed to know about it. How the neighbours came all one by one to tend to the farm, to the animals, and the crops. How none of them ever asked for anything in return.

I write about my work. So my children can judge me based on both my character and my choices. So they know about the atrocities of my field. About false privacy and lies to reassure clients and neighbours, family and friends, that it was all just a lie made by those who envy us. And I write to let history be my judge.

And finally, I write why I wanted to celebrate the anniversary of my husband's death. I write about my diagnosis, how I wasn't going to strain them for resources, possibly ruin their lives for me. It was already too advanced for me to even have a fighting chance against it. I would just be throwing my children's money at a wall. And I wanted to leave while there was no pain.

I sign the papers, and put them all inside a folder. I remember one last note, and take out one more piece of paper, and place it on top of the folder.

I place the pen over it so it doesn't fly away, and walk over to my closet. I put on my favourite dress, and sit on the bed. I take the oxygen and put the nasals under my nose, and open the flow. I reach for my nightstand, take the whole pill bottle, and gulp it down with a full glass of water. As I lie down and pull up the covers, I look to my side and reach for the family picture and hug it against my chest. As I drift into sleep, my last thoughts are those on the final note I left.

'Let strife make you stronger'