As I stand here in the cold, dark, empty room, a small golden antique sits on the wall. The mirror is the only object left in the rotted house.

I walk closer until I'm at eye level with it. Gazing into my own green eyes. The same one my mother carried, and her mother carried as I stare into the endless depth of them, the sins of the generations before haunt me. The twisted lies and frauds. The kind of things no one could ever apologize enough for. I wasn't the one that committed them. Yet, I carry the burden all the same.

The same pretty green eyes that now droop from the pain of the world. The dark eye bags below are a testament to my hardships.

I bring my arm up to my stomach where the small bump is starting to show. My child won't carry the weight of their family name. It ends with me.