So I told her. Not everything — some doors stay closed — but enough. Enough for her to pull me into a hug so tight I felt my ribs protest. Enough for her to say, “You don’t have to be brave alone.”
She didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. She just sat on the edge of my bed, holding the paper like it might break, and asked: “Is this why you’ve been crying in the shower?” emily's diary part 22
But diary, that’s the thing. I don’t know if I’m being brave. Or if I’m just too tired to pretend anymore. So I told her
I hope she’s right.
He texted again tonight. Three words: “Can we talk?” Enough for her to say, “You don’t have to be brave alone
Mom made hot chocolate before bed. She didn’t push. She just said, “Tomorrow will feel different. It always does.”