I avoided mirrors these days because my reflection reminded me so much of my mother. How much of my mother was inside me?   I turned the hot water up to the max and rubbed my hands vigorously underneath the scalding deluge. I could baptize the parts of myself that came from her, but there was always the nagging question at the back of mind—where did she end and where did I begin? Did any part of me truly belong to me?

“No one ever forgives their mother,” she said, shrugging. “Fathers yes, but a mother never.” 

“Being a good woman will eat you alive,” she said. “Every day it takes a piece of you. A chunk here, a chunk there until there is nothing left.”