Chapter 4 - The Unflinching Reply
My thumb stopped above the screen. For a moment, I couldn't find the words. "What did you say?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached over and scrolled to a part of the conversation I hadn't seen yet. "Just read it, Mom."
The bedroom was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. I looked down. There was my mother's message, followed by a reply from Marlo. Then another. And another.
I had spent thirty-four years carefully choosing my words around Patrice, afraid that one wrong sentence would create another family argument. But my thirteen-year-old daughter had apparently decided she wasn't going to play by those rules.
"Marlo," I whispered, "what did you tell her?"
She looked straight at me. "Everything you should've been able to say a long time ago." Then she pointed to one particular message. "Mom, read this one first."
I lowered my eyes to the screen. My mother had written: *Your mother is letting her stubbornness ruin our family. You deserve to have your grandmother in your life, Marlo. Talk some sense into her.*
And Marlo's reply was short, sharp, and entirely devoid of fear: *If you cared about having us in your life, you wouldn't have treated Teo like garbage. You owe him an apology, not Mom an apology. Don't text me again until you figure out how to be a decent human being.*
There had been no reply afterward. For the first time in my life, Patrice had nothing left to say.
I sat there staring at the illuminated glass in my hand, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. A mixture of absolute terror and fierce, terrifying pride washed over me. My baby girl had stepped into the line of fire and delivered a blow that left the matriarch of our family speechless.
"She hasn't texted back since yesterday afternoon," Marlo said quietly, watching my face for signs of anger. "Are you mad at me, Mom?"
I pulled Marlo into a tight embrace, burying my face in her hair. "Never," I choked out. "Never in a million years am I mad at you. But you shouldn't have had to do that."
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"Somebody had to remind her she doesn't own us," Marlo murmured against my shoulder.
That night, sleep didn't come easily. The illusion of family harmony that I had maintained for over three decades was completely shattered. And yet, for the first time, the broken pieces didn't look like a disaster. They looked like freedom.
