I use to have a husband and three daughters. My husband died in the war. They said that he died bravely, fighting for our future but what they didn’t tell me is that he died in the mud for a pointless cause. I don’t hold it against him for joining, he thought he thought he was doing something good, something for our children. My oldest, Abby, was the first to die. She died in terrible pain from a disease, that before the war, we had a sure for. My youngest was the second to die. She was named Molly after her grandmother. She died when a man broken into our camp to steal our supplies, back when we had them. He killed two other, but he got what he deserved. He hung outside of our camp for weeks, until he began to smell too bad. Lilly, she was the last to die. She died to save the rest of us. We were low on supplies. WE had no food and only a little bit of water. I loved my daughter as much as every mother loves their child, they are a part of you, but we did what we had to, to survive. It hurts me to say, that was the best meal I had in months.
ns3.14.83.146da2
Penana
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