Daily Writing Prompt

I would later come to know her as my Mum. She sat with her spine straight and not touching the back of the dining room chair, her body rigid, her hands with palms glued to the dining room table. From where I was left in my playpen placed in the centre of the pastel-coloured weaved rug, all I could see was a face in profile. Set in stone, the determined countenance was unfamiliar to my toddler’s brain, normally recognised by the soft curves and soothing sounds.