I sat on the wooden bench, staring mindlessly at the off white walls, but focusing on nothing. She had to know I hated this place. It had to be the reason she chose it. One final way to make me squirm after all the years I mocked her with my independence. I shook my head, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, the air thick with the scent of flowers.

I turned slightly to look from the wall to the deep, mahogany casket resting at the front of the church. Colors played over it, cast from the stained glass windows along the walls. The church was almost empty. I shifted on the bench, green eyes turning to look back, seeing a few people still mingling around the entrance.

Her funeral hadn’t been well attended. To know her was to hate her, but a few of the people who felt required to show up had done so. Greeting me at the back of the church, telling me what a wonderful woman she was, how it was such a terrible loss that she passed. I was used to lies in church. I grew up in them, but it made me no less comfortable to have to tell them back. Yes, she would be missed. Yes, she’s in a better place. I just needed this over.

I rose from the seat, pulling at the hem of my skirt to make sure it covered the top of my stockings before moving to the back of the church and gathering my coat. I pulled the long trench coat over the dress, grateful it fell to my knees and below the hem of my skirt. Perhaps it would protect me from the rain.

I walked out of the church and into the waiting limo. It would lead the small parade to the cemetery, where we would place my mother in a hole in the ground and I could move on with my life.

Some might consider my attitude shock, but those who had grown up with me, those who knew the woman for what she was, knew better. There was no sorrow for the woman who gave birth to me. No pain at the passing of the woman who made my childhood and teenage years unbearable. No tears to shed for the woman who used guilt as a means to control every action I took. I had been free from her for years and now, I was truly free.

I paid no attention to the ride to the cemetery, less to the words spoken over my mother’s grave. I placed a single white rose on her coffin as was expected and turned in the rain with my umbrella to return to the waiting limousine. I had officially completed my requirements as her daughter and was now free to explore the life that lay before me.

Good evening, DPP. After a bit of a break, I’ve found my way back. I know this prompt is a bit bleak, but there does seem to be that trend to my writing. This is mostly a work of fiction, so please, no sympathy required.