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* * *
“Sean called in to see me,” my mother said in place of a greeting.
I stared out of the car’s window at the lake before me, my packed lunch forgotten on the passenger’s seat to the side, the phone pressed too tightly against my ear.
“Did he?” I said.
“He’s a real mess, Kylee.”
“That’s no good.”
“I tried to tell him that he would always be part of our family, but he said, “You know that’s no longer the case, Mary.’ I just don’t know what to say to him, Kylee.”
“You don’t understand,” I said softly.
“No,” she said. “I don’t understand, and I’m so disappointed.”
She started to cry.
“I know, Mum,” I said, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks, too.
“How could you have done this to him?”
“I couldn’t stay, Mum.”
“You’ve broken that boy, Kylee. Broken him. I’m so disappointed in you. This is not the daughter we raised.”
The phone went dead.
* * *
“He’s really cut up, Ky.”
“Do you even know what you’ve done to him, Kylee?”
“He’s a real mess, Ky.”
“You’ve broken that boy, Kylee.
“How could you have done this to him?”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I just don’t understand.”
* * *
It was only a moment; a few seconds really. But I pictured the razor blade and I pictured my wrist. And I thought, maybe it would just be better for everyone if I didn’t exist.
