Miriam Pataki grumbled a little as she slumped over the kitchen counter, straining her bleary eyes upon the old wall clock, which read 11:05am. Eleven o'clock on which particular day of the week, she wasn't entirely sure, but she did know that she'd been on a heavy smoothie binge since at least 7:30pm the previous night. Why, and especially how, she had managed not to pass out yet was beyond her, for she certainly wanted to.

Unwillingly, her thoughts travelled back to the hours preceding one of her largest drinking sessions to date, the evening hours of the previous day. She had been shopping, an activity that frequently lead to poor decisions and, more often than not, didn't entirely go to plan. Miriam had filled her trolley with Tabasco sauce, a small selection of fruits and even two buckets of those horrible pre-made cocktail mixes and, aside from a big bag of coffee beans, all that was left was a quick stop at the liquor store on the drive home.

She had stood in the fifth aisle, attempting to focus her wavering attention on two different packages of coffee beans, when she had laid eyes on her.

Helga, her daughter.

Miriam immediately clung tightly to the handle of the shopping cart, her eyes wide in a mix of shock and panic. Helga had left the family home the very moment, the very day she had turned eighteen, and Miriam had barely seen her youngest daughter over the seven years that had passed since then.

Alas, seeing her daughter had prompted Miriam to place both large packages of coffee into her cart, quickly pay at the cashier and head as swiftly as possible down toward her favourite vodka merchant to purchase double her standard order.

Why?

It sounded so stupid, but the tired and lonely woman was jealous, jealous of her own daughter. So much so that she had returned to the cold and unwelcoming Pataki household, intent on drinking herself to a point of no return.

Miriam knew that if she had half as much strength as her daughter, she wouldn't have ever become trapped in her loveless marriage in the first place. And, she wondered how they had ever managed to have a daughter quite like her. Bob was crude and heartless, Olga was a flighty train-wreck and Miriam herself, well, she was a pathetic drunk. They had hardly even been 'parents' to Helga, the girl had raised herself.

Miriam had to admit that, honestly, Helga had done an amazing job of raising herself. She'd grown to be as independent and determined as ever, always willing to stand up for what she believed in. Helga was intelligent, she was creative and she was so unbelievably talented – but she never asked for anybody to notice.

And them, the people of the Pataki household, her 'family' – where were they? Drowning in their own pity.

Bob was watching his pride and joy, the company he'd build from the ground up, fall apart before his very eyes. Yet, he wasn't even trying to salvage what was left, almost as though he could no longer be bothered. Watching 'The Wheel' and gambling away what was left of their dwindling savings account, seemed to be his only priority.

Olga had long ago left behind her career as a teacher, and even her dream of acting of Broadway, and fallen into a loveless marriage not unlike her mothers. Eddy was lazy, unemployed and downright rude and he merely watched on from the couch as Olga worked long hours on minimum wage at a coffee shop downtown, scraping together the money for their weekly rent. She'd suffered a nervous breakdown the previous year, and when she had turned to her parents for help, all she'd received was a mouthful from Bob about how she had disgraced the Pataki name.

Lastly, there was Miriam herself who continued to spend her days passing out haphazardly around the home after too many smoothies. Days had all blended into one long ago, she'd not known the date, or the month, she was 'living' in for far longer than she cared to remember.

Two years ago, Helga had married the boy who had lived a few blocks down from the Pataki home, they had been together for years. Miriam couldn't exactly recall his name, but Bob referred to him as 'the Orphan boy'. Miriam had attended the wedding, accompanied by Olga, but Bob had refused to make an appearance. Through sheer willpower she'd almost forgotten she possessed, Miriam had even managed to arrive sober to her youngest daughter's ceremony.

It was beautiful, and sweet, that boy looked at Helga like she was an angel and Helga giggled with tears in her eyes as she recited a slightly disjointed poem she'd apparently written when she was nine years old.

Miriam vaguely remembered, somewhere in the timeframe of five to six months ago, receiving a small card in the mail from her daughter. Helga had given birth to a baby girl. Miriam strained to remember her granddaughters name, Stella, she thought.

The previous night at the grocery store had been the first time Miriam had ever laid eyes on her precious granddaughter. Helga cradled the tiny girl in her arms, watching over her with those magical blue eyes. What a beautiful woman her fiery daughter had become , tall and curvy with long blonde curls and soft pale skin. That husband of her stood with his arm around her waist, leaning over to whisper something into her ear, which made Helga's face light up before he gently kissed her cheek.

Real love, that's what Helga had.

Miriam knew what hurt the most was that Helga truly deserved everything she had, she deserved love, happiness and success. And, throughout her young life, her own family had given her none of it.

Miriam groaned again, rolling her body across the cold kitchen counter and tearing her eyes away from the clock, which now read 11:11am and somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered that meaning it was time to make a wish. Her eyelids were heavy, her head was pounding and she knew she'd failed as a mother. That tiny girl in Helga's arms was her chance at redemption, but she would have to earn it.

'I wish... to change my life', she thought as she glanced at the clock.

Sluggishly, she stumbled from the chair she'd sat upon for countless hours, and over toward the cabinet in the far corner of the empty kitchen. Removing the bottles, one by one, from their place on the shelves, she poured every last drop of the toxic liquids down the drain.

Tomorrow, she would call the rehabilitation centre – she would change, she could earn her daughters trust and she would meet her granddaughter.

Miriam was determined, it an empowering feeling, one that she had not felt in over thirty years.