mom: the original betrayal i never saw coming

lol,
she used to be so scared of him.
my mom.
back in the 80s. the 90s.
blah blah tro’s in the system
before i even popped out.

i was born into a restraining order.
she ran like it was the olympics.
backseats.
basements.
battered women’s shelters.
calling hotlines like
it was fucking customer service.
pulling into daycare
parking lots at 2 a.m.
crying on the phone
’cause the monster
in the next room
wouldn’t stop pacing.

she swore
she’d never let it
happen again.
shocker: she did.

as soon as the
divorce ink dried,
she handed us back
like a goddamn refund.

“oops—
those first 10–14 years?
full-on abuse.
but hey,
i want a backyard.
with equity.”

yeah sure,
kids can just
wait around
for their stability
to hit at 30.

fuck it.
destabilize
your own kids.
make ’em couch-hop,
sleep on air mattresses,
and hand your dog off
to the pound
just ’cause you
felt like moving.

every season
she’s got new drama
to excuse—herself.

then plays victim
like she wasn’t
the fucking grown-ass
fucking adult responsible.

don’t worry,
she’s juggling 5 jobs
and building a house
in fucking maine,
so naturally
she’s “literally never around”
your entire childhood.

instead of,
i dunno,
fighting the motherfucker
she legally released
from child support
so she could make
me fucking homeless
in my fucking teens?

cool.

mom of the fucking year.

so in 8th grade,
she “upgrades” herself
and essentially evicts us
from our childhood home.

homeless. again.

air mattresses.
renting stability
by the fucking hour.

then she lets the bus
start dropping me off
daily at the predator’s house
like it’s some casual childcare.

like i’m not supposed
to notice
i’m being returned
to the goddamn
fucking crime scene.

she couldn’t survive him.

but expected me to fucking thrive?

and when i called her crying?

“sorry sweetie, i’m at work. call the cops.”

i was seventeen.
lmfao.
he finally got arrested.

a kid expected
to police her own safety
with the same man
she once needed
restraining orders to escape.

she gave him custody.

she didn’t have
the energy
to fight.

dropped me off.

every damn day.

“he had a better lawyer,” she cried.

and then she kept doing it.

open bedroom doors.
exposure.
constant threats.

and i told her.
over and over.

high school.
college.
hotel rooms.
hospitals.
when my husband
left me
and she suggested
i move back in
with the man
she once ran from
in the dead of night
with a fucking baby.

when he started again—

in front of my toddler.

when he screamed.
when i screamed back.
when i dared
raise my voice
in the same room
she once hid in.

she called me aggressive.

she knew.
she always fucking knew.
and when i finally left?

she said “thank you,”
like i was clutter.

like she finally had her life back.

this woman—
who wouldn’t
let me touch the laundry
or dishes in her house—

vanished.

poof.

fairy godmother
privileges revoked.

she knew
my clothes were rotting
in a basement
with a fucking predator.

knew my baby gear
was hostage
to my father’s fucking rage.

knew i had
no options.
no cash.
no crib.
no help.

and she texts,
5 months deep—
after ignoring me
for months,
“want me to visit?”

nah.

i wanted a mother.

i wanted a sword.
someone to kick
my husband
out of my fucking car,
tell my dad
to shut the fuck up
and stay the fuck down.

instead?

she went to bed early.
sent t-shirts for birthdays.
chose laser skin rehab
over checking
if we were even fucking alive.

but—
when she had her
medical scare?
she left my baby
with a fucking neighbor
who hated me.

who was gonna
speak for abusive ex.

and when that fell through?

they called my fucking dad.
the man she had
fucking restraining orders against.

to overnight babysit my child.
not my stepbrother.
not her husband.
not my friends.
not literally anyone else.

she handed my child
to the monster she once fled.

and when i flew back,
on borrowed money,
with $300 to my name?

i got screamed at.

my brother told me
to drop out of law school.

left me at that house
at 3 a.m.
with a toddler
and a fucking predator.

my friend left too.

i woke up alone.

my dad assaulted me
as i tried to leave.

and not a single fucking
soul came to help.

he canceled my credit card.

my mom stayed silent
for a fucking month.

didn’t call.
didn’t ask.
didn’t fucking flinch.

because she was “recovering.”
taking care of her whatever.

while i was on facebook marketplace
begging for a fucking crib.

my friends gave me diapers.
furniture.
my mom?
sent a shirt.
offered a gift card.
called it support.

like this was a fucking
PTA meeting.
not the fallout
of a goddamn war
she helped start.

she never protected me.

never protected my daughter.

and she fucking knows it.

w t f.

you are not a mom.
you sacrifice children—
for your own comfort.

and i’ll never fucking forget it.