by Flora Szabó

On a freezing cold night in December, when the heavy blanket of snow hid the world from curious eyes, and the children were playing and screaming and simply enjoying themselves, there was a little girl sitting on the porch of her house, watching them silently, even though they didn’t acknowledge her. Her sky-blue eyes shone with delight and she wore a kind smile on her face.

"What are you looking at so intently?" said her mother, approaching with slow steps.
"I just don’t understand," answered the girl with innocent confusion.
"Then ask me," and the woman sat down.
"Why is it that the things they do are so easy for them and so difficult for me? Why am I so dependent on you?"
The silence which followed was long and uncomfortable.
"Because you’re my miracle. You taught me real love and the meaning of being a real mother."

Her daughter nodded then went into the house. The wheels of her wheelchair squeaking slightly.

(2010)