A memory [Archives:2008/1213/Community]
December 4 2008
By: Marwa Al-Zubairi
[email protected]
I knocked on the door and was greeted by my mother's tear-stained face. When she saw me, something trigged her because she started crying. I dropped my school bag by the door and asked what was wrong but my mother just walked away to her room and shut the door. I crawled to the kitchen and sat by the maid. Moda wasn't just my maid, I thought of her as a sister. I asked her what was happening and she said: “Sweetie
