Your mother, Kate, was never there. Her job came first. You stayed with your other mother, but you couldn’t deny you were lacking something. The sting of her presence, or lack there of, was always something you carried with you. You yearned for two parents, and your heart shattered at every failed promise of Kate’s. You didn’t even know why she bothered, she’d never pick you first.

And now, even as she’s back from deployment, she finds comfort in her alcohol cupboard before you, her child. She stumbles her way into your room, the smell of alcohol almost vomit inducing. You’re about to say something to get her out, before the alcohol makes Kate talk first.

“I don’t blame you, if you want to bury me in your memories, I’m not the girl I ought to be.” It seems the alcohol is making Kate honest for once. Some part of her is trying to reach you, despite the complexity of your relationship.

“But maybe when you tell your friends, you can tell them what you saw in me, not the way I am…” she slurs, stumbling her way into your bed.