Paper FlowersMature

Abelie never really knew our mother.

She never got to go on our spur-of-the-moment beach trips, or drink tea and talk about books late at night. She never saw our mother play Sleeping Beauty and spend her weeks in bed. She never saw our father make our mother cry night after night after night.

Abelie was too young to see the bruises blossom beneath her skin. She was too young to hide in her room and fear for her life when Dad was raging drunk. She never had to sit with Momma on the floor with her back against the locked door, listening to the words hurled from the other side.

Abelie didn't have to watch our mother disappear, then die.

Our mother was beautiful, a bird with clipped wings. Her love brought her downfall. A woman who wore pearls and had sorrow etched into her features. Our mother was cursed, and lovely, and broken.

It is no longer my mother's curse. It is mine. And I pray that it will let my sweet little Abelie be.