დ Rosalie დ
By the time I got home, the coffee had gone cold in my cup, and my nerves had sharpened into something I could no longer sit on. My mother was awake. She sat in the same place on the couch, a blanket over her legs, the television on low without her really watching it. When I stepped inside, she looked up, and the second she saw my face, I knew she understood. Not what I had learned. Only that I was back for more. I shut the door behind me and set the coffee cup down in the kitchen without bothering to take off my coat.
“We need to talk,”
“Rosalie—”
“No,” I cut off as I walked into the living room and stood in front of her. “You don’t get to dodge this again,” her eyes dropped to the blanket.
“I’m tired,”
“So am I,” the words came out harder than I intended, but I didn’t
