The Perfect Son

I practiced the smile in the mirror every morning, but Mother just sat there, weeping into her hands. I walked in after the first surgery and asked, "Is this better? Do you see him now?" She screamed, throwing a vase at the wall. "No! The body is all wrong! It’s disjointed!" I went back to the garage and picked up the rusty saw. When I returned hours later, leaking fluid onto the carpet, she finally smiled. "We are reunited."