The Lemon
by Berry_Milai · 27 October 2026 · Short Stories
A young girl waits patiently at a long breakfast table for a shared lemon, only to receive it fully squeezed dry. When she turns to her mother for comfort and help, the last drops are taken from her too. The story is a quiet, aching metaphor for emotional depletion and being overlooked within one's own family.
Breakfast lasted a whole lifetime. Everyone sat at the long table, each one with their breakfast and their cup of tea. "Pass me the lemon!" That was all anyone said at that table. Only one lemon had been assigned to that table. The more it was passed around, the less juice was left. The lemon went from hand to hand among everyone eating breakfast there until it finally reached the hands of the gardener, who had been waiting eagerly. With great effort, she tended to that lemon. She waited ages as the lemon made its way from hand to hand until it reached her. How sad when she finally received it. There was nothing left. Disappointed, she let her tea go cold. Everyone insisted that something was still left in that lemon. But nothing more could be gotten out of it. She looked at her mother. "Mommy, I don't have any space left to sleep in my bed anymore. Little by little it keeps filling up more, will you help me?" The mother turned and took the lemon from her, squeezing the drops that remained into her own tea. "Go tidy it up, this is still my house and it has to be spotless." The girl looked at her withered hands. "There's nothing left for me."
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