What happens under the covers

Amber

I followed my mother into the kitchen, where she had returned to her chores. Nancy, as she always was, seemed to find some kind of solace in mundane tasks like washing dishes. The water was running in the sink, and the sound of the plate scraping the metal sounded muffled, distant, as I felt the weight of what I had just heard in the garden.

I couldn't contain myself any longer. Something inside me was screaming to come out, like I needed answers or, maybe, relief. Anything to relieve the pressure that had been building since our family began to fall apart.

“Mom, why did you say those things like that outside?” My voice was more hesitant than I expected, but it was charged with the desperate need to understand.

She continued to focus on the dishes, scrubbing hard, without looking at me immediately. For a moment, I thought she was going to ignore my question. Her silence reminded me of how, as a child, I feared her for this same behavior. She always knew how to use silence as a p