WOW!!! Fantastic story! Generations of misery, with only tiny, soon extinguished, glimmers of hope.
My favorite line:
She just thumbed through pictures of old laughter, old love and the squeak of the plastic pages became a part of my nightmares.
Bleak. It might have been better for there to have never been any joy. The mother, although I thought she had gone too numb to care, turns what was once loving and joyful into justifiable (I think) murderousness. Perhaps without any men to drag away, the daughter will be able to love her child? I can hope that, can't I?
Yeah it would seem that the narrator remains the only source of light. The mother realises that her last child had only been touched by life through second contact and wants to save her I guess. I don't know really.