I came to think of it just now, eleven I was, it had just happened. Mother tried to comfort me as I cried day and night, I failed to understand how she could be so calm. Everything was silence, as if no one had noticed a fallen star. It made me very angry.
Some day, it must have been a couple of weeks later, I suddenly felt the urge to dig into mother's closet. I buried myself in the soft fabrics, stopped breathing and pretended I was dead too. An hour went by, then two. Mother's voice calling my name from outside, I flipped through the shoe boxes and there it was, in the midst of Prada heaven; her diary.