"Ella," The sick woman said to me.
"Yes?" I replied.
"If anything should happen to me, I want you to know that I love you. All I want is for you to be happy, no matter what." She coughs as her soft, raspy voice trails off.
"What do you mean?" I ask in my high, melodious whisper – typical for an eight-year-old girl like me. I am worried and confused. "Nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I'm around, mum."
The relatively young woman smiles sadly, yet fondly at my round face. For a moment, I see how she used to be: young, headstrong, and independent instead of the frail, sick woman I see in front of me. "Thank you, my dear, but I don't think any one can make a promise such as that." She grimaces, and then sighs.
Stillness. She moves not a muscle. I grow anxious. She's only sleeping…right?
"Mommy?" I say, reaching my small hand out to hers. She doesn't answer to my call. "Mommy," I say louder and more anxious. I only then realize that she stopped breathing.
"Mommy!"