I remember her red puffy eyes, her chapped cheeks from her tears, tears that continued to run down her face and soak her neck.
I recall her agitation, the slump of her defeated shoulders, her hands that she was wringing and the fact that she couldn’t look me in the eye.
I stood there, as an 8-year-old, staring up at my distraught mother, unable to calm her. Instead, she demanded space, space that I obediently gave her.
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