Justin
"Mom, take that thing off my face," I said flatly.
Across from me, she stood like a battlefield medic, armed with a glass of water and a container of oversized, chalky pills that tasted like crushed regret.
"I feel fine," I insisted, leaning back against the headboard. "You're overthinking this."
“Come on, honey,” she said gently. “Just because you haven’t had an episode recently doesn’t mean we can get too comfortable.”
I exhaled, frustration tugging at my features. “Didn’t you say, just a few days ago, that this was a sign I was healing? So why are we backtracking now? Shouldn’t we be celebrating a little progress?”
“I’m being careful, honey.”
Her voice softened at the end, and I knew it wasn’t about the pills. It was worry, and maybe fear, tangled into motherly instinct. B
