Rosemary was in her kitchen cooking, when Clara stormed in, complaining bitterly.
"Mom, I'm tired! I'm freaking tired of everything! Why should I be the one suffering for this?" She cried out, stumping her feet angrily on the tiled kitchen floor like a teenager throwing a tantrum.
"What is wrong, my darling?" Rosemary asked softly, as she turned the knob of the table gas cooker, to reduce the heat on her bubbling pot of stew. Then she rinsed her hands under the running tap water. After turning the tap off, she dried her wet hands using the kitchen napkin, before finally turning around to meet her daughter's piqued gaze.
"Everything mum! Everything!" Clara said bitterly, tears falling freely from her eyes.
"Come here, baby." Rosemary moved over to her daughter and pulled her into her arms, soothing her tenderly. "Don't cry. Tell me what is wrong. Who is provoking you."
"Isn't it your stupid son?" Clara hissed.
