Random piece of writing. I'll put it elsewhere too, maybe.
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Eight… Nine… Ten, how old had she been? Maya had always been small. And she had looked smaller than ever, that day – looking up at her sister with glassy eyes.
"You’re leaving…"
They both knew this was coming – but somehow, Mia still felt her chest tighten.
"I have to, Maya," she responded gently, crouching and taking her little sister by the shoulders. "You know that. I have to find out what happened to Mother."
Mia felt her sister’s shoulders shake and saw the tears forming. Even though she said nothing, Mia knew what she was thinking.
Mother left me, and you’re leaving me too.After Mother disappeared, Maya always waited by her room. Always, always waiting. When she was old enough to form the words, she’d ask when mother was coming home. Every day. Mia had no answer – no gentle way to break her sister’s heart. So she didn’t. "
Not yet, Maya. She still has something to do." Waiting, always, always waiting.
When she was seven years old, Maya stopped asking. In a way, Mia thought that was worse.
Mother left me, and you’re leaving me too.( Moar )