Wren takes a deep breath beside me. “I know, but you did the right thing.”
I nod and bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to look at him. To focus on anything else. Thankfully, the main reason I’m here walks into the room, and it’s easier to forget the stinging feeling in my chest.
“Hi, Julia,” I say with a smile.
“You came,” she says, returning the gesture.
“Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?”
Julia laughs lightly, her brown hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes scan the room, looking for a familiar face. The corners of her lips stretch into a straight line when she comes up empty.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, following her gaze. I already know what’s wrong. I am deeply familiar with the emotions painted across her face.
“Oh, nothing,” she lies before looking down at her shoes. “My mom said she could make it tonight, but it’s fine.”
I reach out, placing a hand gently on her arm. “I’m sorry, Julia. I know how much it means to have her here.”
She looks up at me, her eyes briefly flickering with frustration and disappointment. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s just the same as always.”
I can feel the weight of her words, the unspoken pain behind them. I wish there was something I could do to take it away, but sometimes, all you can offer is a space for them to feel.
“You’re up soon,” I say softly, squeezing Julia’s arm before letting go. “You’re going to do great.”
She nods, but her shoulders stay hunched. Her fingers nervously fidget with the edges of paper in her hands as she moves towards the front of the room. There’s a raw ache in my chest that I can’t shake. The ache comes from seeing too much of yourself in someone else.
Henry steps up to the small podium, and my breath hitches. His voice cuts through the room like butter, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming to our reading night. I’ve had the pleasure of working with this group all summer, and let me just say I’ve enjoyed it more than the college students I normally work with.” The innocent quip is rewarded with soft laughter throughout the room.
“I’m so proud of each and every one of them, and I’m happy we will get to celebrate their talent tonight. First up is Julia, who will be sharing a short story she’s been working on for the past few weeks.”
As Henry steps aside, he glances at me briefly for the first time tonight. His gaze holds steady, a silent acknowledgment of everything left unsaid.
I quickly look away, focusing instead on Julia as sheapproaches the microphone. Her paper shakes slightly in her hands, but she clears her throat and starts reading.
Her voice is soft at first, but it grows with each sentence. Her piece is calledFractures, a short story about the delicate, painful relationship between a mother and daughter.
Her words wrap around each person's ears in this room, but I can feel her story in my soul. Every syllable hits me like a shard of glass slicing through my heart. She speaks of longing, hope crushed beneath the weight of disappointment, and quiet resilience born from learning to stand alone.
By the time she finishes, my vision is blurred. The applause is thunderous, and when I see Julia’s lips tilt up into a smile worthy of attention, a warmth spreads across my body.
I look at Julia and see the power of turning pain into something that can help others. It makes me realize my pain does not make me weak. It allows me to empower others and make a difference in a small way or another. It helps me realize my future could mean helping more teens like Julia find their power. More importantly, it made me realize I must use my voice to make a difference.
“Hey, can you watch Milo? I need to make a quick phone call,” I say to Wren before wiping a rogue tear off my cheek.
Wren gives me a curious glance but nods. “Of course. Take your time.”
I step outside into the cool summer evening. I grip my phone tightly, and my fingers hover over my mother’s name in my contacts. My chest strains, and for a moment, I think about turning back. But Julia’s words echo in my mind, pushing me forward.
I hit call. The line rings once, twice, and just when I think I’ll get her voicemail, she picks up. “Emma?” she says, her tone cautious. “Is everything okay?”
I take a shaky breath. “No, Mom. It’s not.”
There’s silence on her end, and I keep going before I losemy nerve. “I need to say some things, and I need you to listen.”
Her voice is quiet. “Okay.”
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to get you to be the kind of mother I deserve,” I begin, my voice trembling. “Trying to get you to show up for me, care, and just…be there. But you never were. And it’s not because I didn’t deserve it. It’s because you couldn’t or wouldn’t. And that’s on you, not me.”
