What would she have said if she knew her life would end in that cold river she loved to take me to? I don't know. In her last minutes, would she have felt remorse, or regret, or would she have been numb with the effects of the drugs coursing through her veins?

I remember the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of that river, a place of solace, a sanctuary where she found peace among the rushing current and the whispering trees. How she would hold my hand in hers, guiding me along the path, her laughter echoing through the air. We would skip stones, watch the birds dance upon the water's surface, and share secrets that only a mother and daughter can.

But as time went by, her mind unraveled like a ball of yarn cast adrift. It started with small tremors, subtle cracks in her spirit that would widen into canyons, leaving me...