I get straight to the point. “Did you tell George about Elijah and me?”
She blinks, then crosses her arms. “Was it a secret?”
“No,” I say. “But it wasn’t your information to share. You know what he did to me. And yet you handed him a reason to slither back in. It wasn’t your place,” I say, quieter now, but no less firm. “Because every time, you pick him. You’ve always picked him. You let him disrespect me. And now you hand him parts of my life like they’re still his to know.”
Her face hardens slightly, defensive. “He was your husband, Ava. I didn’t say anything cruel. I just mentioned you were… seeing someone. You’re overreacting,” she says lightly, like I’m some child pitching a fit over spilled milk. “It’s not as though I sent him a press release.”
“You didn’t need to,” I snap. “You knew what kind of person he is. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I simply answered a question,” she replies, setting the mug down with surgical precision. “He asked if you were seeing anyone. I told him yes. That his name is Elijah. That you seemed happy.”
“You told him Elijah’s name.” My stomach churns. “You gave my ex-husband personal information about my life. A man who dumped me like I was used-up garbage.”
Her mouth tightens. “I didn’t say anything you haven’t said yourself. And frankly, if you’re so happy, why does it matter?”
“You know what you did.” My voice trembles, but I don’t back down. “You gave him a glimpse into my life like he still had the right to it. And worse, you gave him the idea that he had something to compare Elijah to. You fed that man’s ego.”
“George was your first love….” she says flatly.
“No,” I cut her off, sharp and raw. “George was the first person who made me believe I was lucky enough to be tolerated. Do you know what it’s like to share a bed with someone for two years and never be touched? To go to sleep every night next to a man who acted like your body was a chore, something he had to endure?”
She flinches. Just slightly. But I see it.
Then her voice sharpens. “You’re being emotional.”
I let out a cold laugh. “God forbid.”
“Ava—”
“You and George—both of you—you made me believe that because I have curves, stretch marks, softness in all the ‘wrong’ places, I would never be enough for anyone to actually want me, desire me. You drilled it into me so deep, I stopped recognizing myself in the mirror.”
“Ava…” she tries, quieter now.
“No. You don’t get to soften this.” My voice cracks, but I keep going.
“I used to lie in that bed and pray I wouldn’t wake up. That maybe, if I was lucky, I’d just… fade away. Disappear. Because it would be easier—for everyone. Because then my life wouldn’t be reduced to surviving in a world where not even my own mother loves me. A world where I’m always in the way. Because that felt easier than living inside a body no one ever wanted to touch, hold, or even see.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall yet. Not for her. Not here.
“If that’s the kind of life you think is normal—if you can still excuse him after hearing what it was like to be married to him—then I don’t think we have much left to say.”
She looks shaken now. Speechless. For once, words fail her.
Good.
I pull my bag over my shoulder, grounding myself with one final breath. “I’m not the woman you raised anymore. Elijah didn’t just show me love—he showed me I deserved it all along. I won’t apologize for finally believing that. And I won’t let either of you take that from me again.”
I open the door to leave, and pause—just for a second.
"I’m setting a boundary", my tone cutting through the tension. “You don’t get to talk to George about me. You don’t get to share who I’m seeing, what I’m doing, where I work. He lost the right to know anything about me the day I left. And if you can’t respect that… then… I don’t know what kind of relationship we can still have.”
Her jaw tightens. She says nothing. The silence speaks loud enough.
“I’m your mother,” she finally says, like it’s some kind of shield. “You can’t just draw a line like that.”
But I look her dead in the eye, steady despite the storm in my chest. “I can. And I am. Whether you choose to cross it again is your decision. But if you do… don’t expect to find me waiting on the other side.”
I let the words settle. They taste like fire, but they feel like freedom.
