I flag down a cab once I exit my apartment. After giving the driver the address, I sit back in the car until I see the moss covered spire of the church.

Upon mom's death, I promised myself that I would always visit her tombstone on this date no matter where on the planet I am

Mom was a devout christian, going to church on Sundays and all that. Upon her burial, we laid her near a church so that and I quote, 'she could forever hear the choir singing hymns and the priest teaching the sermons'. She was a weird one, that one.

I buy a bouquet of lilies, her favorite flower, and make my way between tombstones. I am really coimetrophobic, my mind can't stop imagining the dead people laying here waking up and attacking me. I rush my stride and only breathe a sigh of relief when I see my mothers grave stone ahead. Inscribed;

MARIA VON MADRIS

4/2/1974- 17/4/2019

Loving wife and mother of two.

I take a seat at the foot of the grave and replace the dried up flowers from last year with new lilies. Tears start flowing down my face. It has only been two years since she died, and I still cry every time I visit. I just wish I had called her that day, maybe she'd still be alive.

"Mom. I am back." I start between sobs. "I brought your favorite flowers." I smile like she can see me. "Dad is holding the gala again, you know I hate it but I'll go anyway. You know how he gets when I disrespect him." I gave a short laugh at all the times she had to back me up because I was being too insolent and made dad angry.

But that moment ends and all the pain returns and with it comes frustration, "Ugh, this is stupid. I can't believe I thought you were actually here." I get up and dust my pants off. I look at the tombstone and shake my head with resignation. I turn around and walk away without a backwards glance.

I hail another cab to take me home. I sit in the back seat battling a flood of tears that can't stay at bay. I am too embarrassed to even look at the driver when I hand him his tip after crying in his backseat like a heartbroken hormonal teenage girl.

I make my way through the lobby with my head turned down, and race for the elevator hoping for some time to compose myself in private.

I press the button for the eighth floor and wait for the doors to close. A few inches before it glues shut, a hand appears and it opens again. I instinctively hide my face behind my curtain of hair and wipe my eyes as discreetly as possible in this small space.

"Are you alright honey?" The voice of an old woman reaches my ears. I look up to find a really charming old woman looking at me with worry in her eyes.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I answer mechanically.

"Nonsense. You were crying just a few seconds ago." She says sternly. It's so weird how much alike she sounds to my mother. I snap out of it immediately, it must be my grief talking and not my head.

I find myself telling her the truth, "I visited my mother's grave." Her entire physique softens instantly. I can feel her oozing sympathy towards me. Out of the blue, she wraps me in her arms and strokes my hair. I stand awkwardly wondering whether to push her away or savor the hug I have been in need of all day.

"You'll be okay." She says the same moment the elevator doors open on my floor.

"Thank you." I say nervously and quickly flee the scene. I head to my apartment and quickly enter my bedroom. After securing the lock, I fall onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.

In a few hours, the gala will start. I get up and start my toilette. I decide on a charcoal body hugging dress, red stilettos and let down my hair in voluminous waves around my shoulders.

I arrive at my family home in a limo they sent to pick me up. I set foot on the red carpeted ground and the cameras start flashing. I proceed to the entrance.

For a man who organized this gala for charity, my dad had to book the most overpriced catering services, a red carpet and even commissioned a couple broadcasting agencies to cover the event. Sure, Jan.

I am led to the main area by a set of finely dressed chaperones who lead me in the middle of the living room turned banquet hall. It looks so unfamiliar now with the decorations up and many of the art pieces that used to be in the house taken down. A 40 by 60 inch portrait of my mom is hanging above the mantelpiece, a place I know it resides only on this day during the entire year. With a flute of champagne in my hand, my gaze lands on my father, in a moss green tailored suit. His dark hair is slicked into a prim side part. It makes him look younger than he is. He is talking to a couple of important looking men. I walk towards them.

Upon seeing me, he takes the champagne from my hand before I even have the chance to take one sip. If he sees the scowl I pass him, he doesn't show it. "Finally you decided to show up." He says in that passive aggressive tone he took on ever since mom died.

I smile at his companions pretending I didn't hear him. He goes ahead to introduce me to the men who look like had this been a more private setting they'd be peeling my clothes off. I fix a smile onto my face, as I suppress the urge to punch someone in the face. "Nice to meet you." I chirp when all the introductions have been made.

"It's a pleasure, Tara." One of them says in a foreign accent, giving me an off putting predatory grin. I return a tight-lipped smile. In an instant, they resume talking about business like I am not even there. I take the cue and make a beeline for the bar, where I can get another drink.

I order a daiquiri in a golden hue, my mom's favorite color, and take small sips willing the time to pass. It's then I hear the commotion outside the gate shouting at Godknowswhat. I make my way to the entrance but the chaperones refuse to let me through.

"I sold my house..." one of the loud people crowded outside says for all to hear. What is going on?

Other people in the crowd murmur in agreement.

"... I divorced my husband and now my kids have nowhere to go..." A woman says.

"I took out a loan. They're gonna take my home. What are you gonna do 'bout it?" He asks as others also intone the question. My journalistic instincts are tingling as my brain draws blanks about what they are talking about.

"SHUTDOWN NASA!"