Omission

Toxicity

Facing her mother and father felt akin to squaring up before a boxing match to Sharon. On one side were her and Brad, ready to defend their actions and choices, and on the other, her parents, who looked eager to start in on her the second the bell dinged.

For an alarming flash, Sharon was reminded of a younger version of herself, in a "toxic" relationship, according to her parents, and being forced to, time and time again, defend herself against their criticisms and attacks on her life choices.

The major difference being, that back then, Sharon had been fully confident in her decisions. Unshakeable in her stance that she was right and her parents were wrong. That they weren't listening to her or giving her a chance to make her own decisions (read: mistakes).

This time, however, Sharon's resolve that her choices were absolutely right wasn't so firm. She still had her reasons, certainly, and she held them closely to her chest. But the holes in her arguments, which had started as tiny pin-pricks when she first resumed guardianship of Riley, were now ripped, gaping expanses, and any argument she made to abandon a five-year-old boy sounded flimsier than wet tissue paper.

Brad stood next to her in front of the hearth, his arm circling her shoulders. He grounded her in much the same way as she'd tried to ground Riley earlier today while anticipating a potential attack from her parents. With the roles flip-flopped, she felt as exposed and vulnerable as she was certain her son had been.

So vulnerable that she physically recoiled under her mother's accusatory glare and her arrowheaded demand for "We want answers Sharon!"

Maintaining command over her own tone while her mother was so clearly on the offensive was strenuous. Allowing the situation to devolve into an accusatory screaming match would accomplish nothing, she reassured herself. It wouldn't make them understand, and worse, it could possibly impact her parents' relationship with Riley. She didn't want issues that were purely her own to steal her son's chance at grandparents.

And, with a sickening lurch in her stomach, Sharon remembered the last argument where she let her emotions get the best of her and she screamed at the person who least deserved it.

"You're angry, unpleasant, vindictive, and violent. Just like your father."

Striking out wildly with intent to wound would serve no purpose here. Calm explanations. Active listening. All of the tenets of effective communication she'd researched when trying to learn the best way to fix her relationship with Riley listed themselves out in her head, a neatly, bullet-pointed list.

She just hoped that her Mom would play by those same rules.

"During the time while I was with Keith, and while we weren't speaking," it had felt so much worse than just not speaking. It had felt like she'd lost her parents completely. "I had a son."

Sharon was proud of her even demeanor. Her chin was high and she maintained steady eye contact, despite how tempting it was to just run to the nearest exit.

Her mom nodded in understanding, but Sharon couldn't help but detect the condescension. "So you had a son. Well tell me Sharon! Where on God's green Earth has he been for the last sixteen years?!"

"Ellen, don't yell." Roy tried to placate his aggravated wife, much the same way he would always try to referee their arguments growing up. "The children are downstairs and they don't need to hear this."

"Sharon, hon, can you please fill in some of the blanks here?" Roy continued, very much the calm father she'd grown up with, but she knew better than to think that he was an ally in this situation.

"I got pregnant, and then Keith proposed. Soon after, I had Riley and I raised him for the first five years of his life."

Five years. In this context, five years sounded like an impossibly long time. It was a long time to be a parent, she remembered (They always say the days are long and the years are short). At times, it felt like an entire lifetime had been condensed into five short years that they spent together. But five years was, in fact, not a long time. Not in terms of her son's age, and the amount of years it had been since she left him.