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July 6
Two months. Mom let me be for two months before cornering me in my room.
She noticed my tear-stained cheeks and shaking hands. She told me to stop hiding.
So, I told her everything.
Words tumbled from my mouth, but only half made it into coherent sentences.
She still understood.
I expected her to tell me to walk up to your door and demand that you talk to me. I expected the woman who forced us into karate and yelled at drivers on the road to tell me to fight for you.
But she wiped my tears, smiled, and told me that sometimes, it's better to let someone go than destroy yourself.
This was the same woman who cleaned your scraped knees, quizzed you on the state capitals, and bought a stocking with your name on it.
And even she said to let you go.
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