When Saving Is Killing
Suddenly, Mom reached out, her hand shaking as she violently snatched the notebook out of Dad's grip.
She flipped frantically to the very last page, and her entire body stopped moving.
On that final sheet of paper, there was only one sentence: If I take really, really good care of Leo, will Mom tell me I'm a good girl too?
Right beneath the sentence was a small, dried water stain.
It was impossible to tell if it was from a spilled glass of milk, or a tear that had fallen while I was writing it.
Mom’s thumb pressed down against the crinkled text, her grip tightening until the paper warped under her weight.