Rose dropped to the cold floor, doing her best not to cry as she held her mother's frail hand. Her hand was so thin that it made her fingers look longer.
The hand she held shivered, and Rose feared that with every movement, her mother's bones might break. It wasn't only her hand that looked frail, her entire body was frail.
There was barely any color in her face except for the strands in her hair. It was a bit ironic that she had such a full head of hair, yet her face lacked vibrancy.
Her lids fluttered as she tried to look at Rose, and it was pretty clear that it was quite straining for her to focus on her daughter.
"Mot'er," Rose cried. "I am here. I am back home."
"Rose," the voice that called her was winded, as though it took all her breath to call her name.
"Yes, Mot'er," Rose responded. She felt something fall onto her hands holding her mother's hand and that was when she realized she was crying.
