Clutching the newly signed divorce agreement, I drove to the place I once thought would be my safe haven.
As soon as the door opened, a thick, choking wave of perfume hit me.
My mother, Clara, was lounging on the sofa with her legs crossed.
She had a glittering gold face mask on, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand, looking incredibly smug.
When she saw me, she shot straight up from the sofa so fast that her face mask nearly slipped off.
"Oh, my precious baby's home!" She opened her arms and faked coming in for a hug.
"What's wrong, honey? Why are your eyes all puffy and red? Did that good-for-nothing bully you again?"
I didn't move. I just stood in the doorway, watching her put on this over-the-top performance.
When she saw I wouldn't respond to her, she sat back down on the
