A Door She Cannot Walk Through.

In the deep hush of the night, while the house sleeps, her tears trickle quietly. 

Even they seem to know that silence is her only sanctuary; it is safer that way.

Her heart thrashes, demanding answers and threatening to break into a sob, but she whispers comfort to the ache. 

She tells her heart that everything will be okay, though she knows it is a lie. 

It will never be okay—not unless she leaves. 

But leaving is a door a mother can never truly walk through. 

Left behind, her heart sinks into a quiet, heavy disappointment.

Eventually, sleep claims her.

Her pillow dries her tears as it always does, and her duvet wraps around her—the only things left to offer her the comfort and warmth she so desperately needs.