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Shit

My mother

The woman who locked me in a dark, less rooet my beauty sleep Who controlled what I ate so meticulously that I didn’t e

The woe of fehters’ heads that my sister committed suicide when her husband left her, because she’d clearly failed at being a wife

The woman who said that I was a fool to stay with Damien That once you passed the ten-million-dollar mark one man is pretty much like another, and I should e

The wo for a nude portrait

The woman who’d called me a whore

I didn’t want to see her More than that, I wasn’t sure I could see her and e to stay centered

I needed Dath, my anchor

But he wasn’t in town and my mother was downstairs And while I knew that one phone call would have hio to the kitchen, pick up the house phone, and make that call

I could do this on my own—I had to

And with Damien’s voice in my head, I knew that I’d survive

At least, I hoped I would

“Well, look at you!” My mother rises fro towardthat is capped off by her trade to leave htly, but I can hear the indictment in her words—I left her unattended, and broke one of the cardinal rules fro Hostess

I say nothing, just stand stiffly in her embrace A moment passes, and I decide to ive her a small squeeze “Mother,” I say, and then stop Honestly, what more is there to say?

“Married,” she says, and there is actually a wistful tone in her voice For aIs she here because she honestly wants to celebrate e? I’m not quite able to wrap my head around the possibility, and yet I can’t help the tiny flame of hope that flickers inside me