I stood there staring at it.
So I waited.
Five minutes.
I was not early.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.
Nobody came out.
For illustration purposes only
I sat on my suitcase; my legs ached. I could hear little feet running inside, laughter, music growing louder.
I looked at the door and realized something awful.
I was not early.
No one had stopped me.
I was not unexpected.
I was simply less important than whatever was happening inside.
I picked up my phone, pulled up his contact, then locked the screen.
I got up, took my suitcase, and walked down the driveway.
No one stopped me.
I didn’t turn my phone on that night.
At the corner, I called a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Anywhere cheap,” I said.
He took me to a motel ten minutes away.
I sat there in my blue dress, the gift bag on the chair, feeling more tired than I had in years.
I didn’t turn my phone on that night.
Mom, where are you?
