Medora
My conversation with my mom earlier still had my heart racing. I reached for a glass of wine, hoping the sweet liquid would calm me down. Talking to her always dredged up memories I tried to bury. Running away from home wasn’t just about Anthony—it was also about avoiding these conversations.
Did she really have to remind me I’d failed at marriage? Twice? Of course, she didn’t say it outright, but when she brought up Ethan, my first fiancé, it hit like a brick to the chest. Ethan, who ran off with my sister after I caught them making out the morning of our wedding. That memory alone ruined an afternoon I had hoped would go smoothly. And then, eight months ago, I fled Boston to avoid marrying Anthony.
Now she’s flying here to New York because I slipped up and told her where I was.
