She had her back to me, standing in front of my mirror.
From where I stood, I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, only that she was fussing over herself with unusual concentration.
She muttered something under her breath, then gave a satisfied little laugh.
A second later I heard fabric strain.
I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing.
Then another tug.
Then a soft ripping sound.
I frowned.
For a moment, I almost announced myself.
Almost.
Then I remembered the promise I’d made myself the previous day.
I was going to let her make her choices, and face the consequences alone.
I almost announced myself.
She’d humiliated me for four straight days while everyone else looked away.
I wasn’t going to rescue her from whatever she’d gotten herself into.
So I quietly stepped back into the hallway.
A minute later, Dylan reached the top of the stairs.
“Hey, have you seen my mom?”
“I think she’s getting ready,” I said evenly.
She’d humiliated me for four straight days
He frowned at me.
“You okay? You seem… different.”
“I am different.”
“You’re still upset about everything?”
“Not since I stopped expecting people to protect me,” I said. “It’s surprisingly peaceful.”
He blinked but didn’t know what to say.
“I stopped expecting people to protect me,”
“Mom didn’t mean anything by the weight comments, you know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s just how she is.”
“I know exactly how she is, Dylan.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I said. “I stopped being mad this morning. I’m just done.”
He frowned, not understanding, and I honestly didn’t feel like explaining.
“Are you mad at me?”
Down the hall, I heard Diane humming to herself.
Whatever she was planning, she sounded very pleased with it.
I picked up the baby’s bottle and headed downstairs.
I walked into the living room, where Dylan’s siblings were already lining up sandals and sunscreen.
“Where’s Mom?” his sister asked. “We’re all getting ready for the family photo.”
“Preparing to make an entrance, I’m sure,” I said sweetly.
“We’re all getting ready for the family photo.”
His brother laughed.
“She always does. She invited everyone to watch the Instagram live this year.”
I stopped mid-step.
“An Instagram live?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
“Yeah,” he said, holding up his phone. “I did mention it, didn’t I? I’m going live for the whole photo shoot. Her club friends love it.”
My conscience tapped me on the shoulder one last time.
“She invited everyone to watch the Instagram live.”
I looked toward the hallway, where Diane was still busy.
I thought about every laugh at that breakfast table.
Every joke about women who “gave up.”
