I set the phone down on the table, needing physicaldistance from it while I thought. Through the small window in the break room door, I could see Jenna humming to herself as she restocked supplies for tomorrow's baking. Normal. Steady. Present.
My life had developed a rhythm these past weeks, between the bakery, photography class, dinner with Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew, and movie nights with Eden sprawled across all our laps. No crises. No disappearances. No walking on eggshells.
The contrast was startling.
I picked up the phone again, rereading the message with clearer eyes. "Got a new place" likely meant she'd found someone willing to let her crash for a while. "Things are looking up" was her go-to phrase when she wanted to sound better than she was. "Miss you so much" was... well, that part might be true. In her way, when she remembered to think about me, she probably did miss me.
But love wasn't just missing someone. It was showing up for them. It was putting their needs above your wants. It was consistency and safety and trust.
Things Mom had never been able to give me, even when she was physically present.
I thought about Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew. About how they'd made room for me in their lives, their home, their hearts—not temporarily, not conditionally, but permanently.
I thought about how they never asked me to keep secrets. How they gave me privacy but not isolation. How they checked in without hovering, set boundaries without control, loved without possession.
I thought about the photography field trip permission slip in my backpack, already signed by Uncle Drew with a little note in the margin: "Can't wait to see what you capture!"
A lump formed in my throat.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Mom.
Mom: Please baby. I really need to see you. Things will be different this time I promise.
The familiar words sent a pang through my chest—not just pain, but recognition. How many times had I heard this exact promise? How many times had I believed it, only to be disappointed when "different" turned out to mean "exactly the same"?
I knew what Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew would say if they saw these messages. They wouldn't forbid me from seeing Mom. They weren't like that. But they would gently suggest meeting in a public place, with one of them nearby. They would prioritize my safety, physical and emotional.
Because that's what parents did.
With a deep breath, I typed my response.
Hi Mom. I'd like to see you too, but I need Aunt Elyse or Uncle Drew to be there. We could meet somewhere public if that works for you.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then waited, heart pounding.
The response came almost immediately.
Mom: Why? Don't you trust me? I'm your MOTHER. They've turned you against me haven't they?
And there it was—the guilt, the manipulation, the refusal to respect boundaries. The real reason she wanted to meet in secret: so there would be no witnesses to whatever state she was actually in.
Tears pricked at my eyes, but they weren't the desperate tears of the past. They were clearer somehow. Sadder, but clearer.
I typed again, my fingers steadier now.
It's not about trust. It's about what's best for both of us. I love you Mom, but I need this boundary right now. Let me know if you're willing to meet with Aunt Elyse or Uncle Drew there.
Send. Wait.
One minute passed. Two. Five.
No response.
I wasn't surprised, not really. Mom operated on her terms or not at all. She wanted the fantasy reunion—her prodigal daughter running into her arms, no questions asked, no accountability required.
But I needed reality now. Messy, complicated reality with people who showed up consistently, even when it was hard.Especiallywhen it was hard.
A soft knock on the break room door startled me. Jenna peeked in, concern written on her face.
