I put the phone back down and stared at the wall. She’ll pick any man over me. Every time.
When Evelyn came out of the bathroom, I didn’t confront her.
Instead, I went to my bedroom and returned with the old shoebox full of childhood drawings. I handed it to her without a word.
“What’s this?” she asked, opening it. Her eyes widened at the stack of faded paintings.
“Oh, Alexa… did you draw these?”
“Every few weeks,” I said quietly. “For years after you left.”
She hugged me tight, tears streaming down her face. “Baby, I’m so sorry.
I’ll never leave you again,” she promised. “We’re family and that’s all that matters.”
My arms didn’t wrap around her. But she didn’t notice… or I suppose she didn’t care.
I let her stay over, and the next morning, she left with more promises to call soon.
But I made no such commitments in return, and the fact that she left the shoebox in my guest bedroom was more than enough confirmation that this was just a means to an end for her.
When she called, I didn’t answer. When she showed up at my apartment days later, knocking and shouting my name, I sat silently until she gave up and left.
I felt better when she wasn’t around. So, one night, I took the shoebox of drawings to the dumpster behind my building.
As I threw it in, I remembered something Grandma Rose once told me:
“You are a strong, capable young woman, Alexa.
Never forget your worth.”
She was right, so I chose not to be part of whatever Evelyn had planned. I wouldn’t be part of her life either. I was choosing myself.
