la's

does everyone treat me and my child with such scorn and contempt? Tell me, why has my mother never once held her grandson? Not even

? Right. But look at me, full of condemnation from the world. His "morning" is little more than a grunt, but I catch him glancing my way-just for a second. That is more than en

our existence. When she asks him if he is going out, I can feel my body tense. I want to tell her to ju

y thing keeping me grounded. He has got this way of reminding me

Mom's question about whether he is heading out when she attacks his hair style-of all things. How unmotherly. He has been gone for over a decade

readlocks?" she asks, her t

ick retort. It is short, rough, and hits right where it hurts. Mom's response is pure

would not start fussing. This is already messy enough. Mom hates it w

right at me this time. "When will you see a

to let me stay in her house. I focus on my son's tiny fingers, curling around the edge of his blanket. I will no

, even though every nerve in me wants to tell her

ed with that relentless, "I know best" edge. "You're so damn stubborn, Angel. You think

from the impact. He does not yell, but his voice is firm, controlled, and it i

ing a dangerous edge. "You don't need to put pressure on

in a way I have not felt in a long time. It is good to have someone stand up for

aze, giving him a small nod-just a tiny acknowledgmen

*

Angela's PO

rapy. I looked up several online and at last settled for Affairs Medical. The reviews were not the b

ith the therapist I have

asks. I glance at my son, his little face pu

the honesty that slips out. "But I'm supposed to keep

out his

iding on how best to respo

mother can be quite challenging, especially in a situation where you don't feel

there for me, and someone whose mere presence just ma

l like I'm doing the right thing. I