My Mother Loved Her Cage More

Summary

Every time my mother packed a bag to run away from home, she’d make it exactly halfway before finding an excuse to turn back.

The first time, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving behind half a watermelon that was about to go bad in the fridge.

The second time, we actually made it onto the Greyhound bus before she gasped and said we had to go back to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer.

The third time, I saw that familiar, sickeningly anxious look wash over her face again.

Looking back at those first two attempts, I would have had to be completely blind not to figure it out.