"Mummy, I want to be a dreamer when I grow up."
The little child sat propped in her bathtub, foam covering everything except her head, which burst with wet golden curls. Her hands scooped at the foam before her, covering her skin in bubbly snow. She threw her hands upwards, letting the bubbles fly, watching them take flight and descend on her mother's hair. They popped, one by one, and she giggled.
"You can't be a dreamer when you grow up," said her mother, sitting on a pink stool next to the bathtub. Her sad tawny eyes surveyed her only child, her mistake. Bitterness tore at her features, turning them haggard and twisted, but the child saw