“Good morning, Miss Reed,” the officer began, tipping his hat slightly. His partner stood silently beside him, scanning the hallway. “We received a call from your mother.
She was concerned that she couldn’t reach you and thought something might have happened.”
I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around the situation. My mother, using the police to make contact when a text would have sufficed? My pulse still thudded in my ears, but I forced myself to breathe deeply.
“I’m fine,” I assured them, my voice steadier than I felt. “I changed my locks, that’s all. Is there something else I can help with?”
The officer’s expression softened, and his tone shifted from official to conversational.
“She mentioned being worried because you usually respond right away.”
I nodded, understanding fully how it must have looked to her. I had always been the good daughter, the one who never said no. But I was done living in that silent obligation.
“I’ve been busy,” I said, my words firm but polite. “I’m just setting some new boundaries.”
The officer nodded, as if he understood more than he let on. “Well, as long as you’re okay, we don’t need to stick around.
Just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Thank you,” I replied, appreciating their professionalism. They nodded, and as they walked away, the tension in my chest began to unravel. I closed the door softly, the click reverberating through the stillness of the apartment.
The encounter, though brief, felt like a turning point. For the first time, I had chosen myself over the endless demands. I had always believed that putting others first was the path to love and acceptance, but the reality was far different.
I had been giving pieces of myself away, expecting my family to notice the sacrifices, but they never did. Or maybe they did, but they had grown too comfortable with the arrangement to care. I sat down at my small kitchen table, the sunlight pooling around me, and thought about the life I wanted to forge.
A life where I wasn’t the invisible backbone propping up everyone else’s dreams. Where I could pursue my own passions without feeling guilty for it. With each sip of coffee, I began drafting a future that was my own.
It was both terrifying and exhilarating to realize that the horizon was mine to shape. I felt a newfound strength in the quiet of my apartment, a sense of liberation that had been foreign to me for so long. I reached for my phone, not to respond to my mother but to delete the message thread.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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