Beverley sat on the bench. The camera crew would be here soon. She didn't know what she was going to say. She planned it out in her head, wrote some thoughts down on her little notepad. It all didn't seem worth it.
They were going to make her bring up that day. The day her life stopped. They were going to prod, ask questions, try to find their story. Make her story, their story.
No. No. No. She wouldn't let that happen. She would decide the narrative this time. Her story was hers and hers alone. The only ones she shared it with were the other Lost Mothers. That's what they called them. The mothers who had their sons and daughters taken from them. Ripped away from them in the middle of the night with no warning.
Beverley wondered if this was all worth it, the cameras and the filming. Why now? Why this story? What made her so special?
It wasn't like that, though, she reminded herself. This was something bigger. They wanted to hear from her. She had an obligation to tell her story, to let the world know all the bad that's come her way since that day. She's been silenced for too many years.
Yes. Yes. She would get to speak. She would get to say something. And maybe, she could find a way to be herself again.
She hoped. But she didn't believe that hope.