Then I opened the door and walked inside.
The house was too quiet.
No television. No footsteps. No clipped greeting from the living room.
I told Ava and Alex where our things were, what to grab, and which boxes were already half-packed, then headed for the kitchen to find my mother.
She wasn’t there.
A half-eaten bowl of oatmeal sat on the counter. A mug of tea had been abandoned beside it. That was strange. My mother never left things unfinished.
A prickle of unease crept up my spine.
I went upstairs.
Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open slowly.
She was sitting in the chair by the window, still in her dressing robe, staring out at the yard like she was watching something only she could see.
“Mom?” I asked carefully.
No response.
“Mom,” I said again, stepping into the room. “Are you okay?”
She nodded once, stiffly, and said coolly, “I’m fine. Not that you care.”
“Mom, that’s not fair,” I said softly as I stepped farther into the room. “I do care.”
“You’re leaving,” she said, her voice brittle. “Just like everyone leaves. First, your father. Then you. Then your sister. Then you again.”
I froze.
I had never seen her like this. Not sharp. Not cutting. Just . . . cracked open.
“Mom, Dad didn’t leave you.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”
“No,” I said gently. “But he didn’t leave you. He had cancer.”
She stared out the window for a long moment.
“I know that, Eleanor.”
“And I’m not leaving,” I said. “I’m just going across town.”
She sighed, heavy and theatrical. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
I sat on the edge of her bed. I’d come here ready for a fight, for another round of control and cruelty. I hadn’t been ready for this wounded, brittle version of her.
“I guess I’m just so terrible you don’t want me in your life,” she said.
I let out a long breath. There was a part of me that wanted distance. Needed it. But she was still my mom.
“Mom, I’m leaving because I’m a grown woman with a child of my own,” I said quietly. “We need our own space. We need to make our own decisions.”
She stood and went to the window, turning her back on me. “Well, you have it. I guess I’ll see you at Christmas, if you can manage.”
