We don’t have any for you, she said as she walked off the waiting room floor. Who will pay
I’d like to hear your opinion on the issue, Keesma added, looking down at her son.
Keesma sighed and put a hand on her son’s shoulder. What do you mean by ‘your opinion’
My opinion would be that your opinion of the situation isn’t accurate.
Keesma gave Keesma a questioning look. How many of you are still alive How many are there, and how many would you let me know about they’re still alive if you were their daughter
Keesma shrugged. We still are, right
The blonde’s son sighed and walked off. Keesma sat straight, her head tilted slightly. He didn’t come out after that with any serious response. Keesma left the room. She was alone, and so far had not been able to hear what the other two girls had to say.
You know of any other parents you’d like to speak with us one of the girls asked, looking out the window.
I am, Keesma answered honestly. Your family is my little sister. I just want to know who the next family might be.
The blonde’s son shook his head. You don’t even know me, he said, staring at the ceiling. So do that for your child. Tell me something about yourself.
This is too far down on my memory board, said Keesma, looking back to the other girls.
I know I should stop pretending to care about you, the girl said with a smug grin on her face.
But it really is so painful. You’re my only hope, answered Keesma bitterly, her voice falling more and more into a whisper.
She reached out and pulled the girl close. She took a breath, her eyes focused on the other one. Please listen to me, she urged.
Keesma felt a small hand on her arm. But she didn’t move her hand, her eyes on the girls. She was still looking at the floor.
Who are we she asked without looking up or moving a muscle. Keesma’s eyes lit up, and she didn’t even need to look at the girl.
The other girl shook her head.
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