~Jennie’s~

“I never meant to hurt you,” my mother says as her voice shakes like her fingers that can’t seem to unclench her scarf.

I stand at the threshold of my childhood home, breathing in memories and tension. The scent of her hibiscus oil still lingers. The wooden door behind me clicks closed, sealing us in this moment—just her and me. And all the things we never said.

She’s standing by the kitchen counter, acting like she’s slicing apples for no reason, even though the knife’s barely moving. Her hands tremble. Her eyes dodge mine.

As I walk in slowly, my heels tap against the tiles like quiet reminders of...