I ran across a challenge online the other day to write a story. There are two rules: one, the category is “mothers” — either the writer’s own mother, a mom they know, or (in my case) one I made up. The other rule is that it must be 29 words or less.

Here’s my story:

Her grief was lonely, censored: my blind sibling unseeded without receipt or witness. Will he forgive me? she rasps, decades later, after chemo. She, robed penitent; I, graceless confessor.