After we ended our video call, I walked over to the closet and threw open the door to look at the boxes containing her books. Luis did not know about these, but they existed and that was proof enough of my past. I pulled both boxes out of the closet to look at them. Both boxes were about the same size, about to my knees, and stacked full of her journals. When I received them years ago, it had come as a surprise, and I wondered who sent them. There had been no sender address, but it was my name on the front.
It had been right after my thirteenth birthday when I received them. What was I supposed to do then? I was so curious because my memories and the facts could be so far from the truth. So, I read them. All of them. Between the tears and the truth behind my mother’s actions. Of course,
