My mother took them from their mother. The mother wasn’t very happy about and scowled furiously on her bed. I felt sorry for her. She would never feel the joy of having her little ones with her. I asked my mother why she did it and she told me we had to eat. That there were no babies. I think she just told me that to keep me from crying, since the tears were nearby. She placed them in a basket and I watched her wash them off one by one. I wondered if they liked the water? Mommy the water’s on cold, they’ll freeze, I cried. She chuckled and turned it to medium. I’ve seen my mother wash my baby sister and she didn’t like the cold water one bit. They were now in a bowl, the one my mother always used for them, and sitting on the kitchen table, waiting. Waiting, because even though they didn’t know what was going to happen next, I did. She took four, four because my dad liked having that many for dinner. I watched her break them, killing them with swift movements. It was too late for them, and too late to hold in my tears. She dropped them into a frying pan and I heard them sizzle. She saw me cry and hugged me in her arms. “Oh baby girl, you have such a big heart. But it’s only an egg. There’s no baby inside.”

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