Too Late to Love Me A Mother's Deadly Regret

That note was written by me while Aileen held a knife to my throat.

"Aileen, if you dare call her 'Mom' one more time, when you come home, I'll strangle you with a rope, chop you into pieces, and feed you to the dogs."

Mom kicked over the trash can beside her. Garbage spilled across the floor.

She dialed my number immediately, the vein at her temple throbbing.

One call after another. Every single one met with the same robotic voicemail prompt. Mom laughed from sheer fury, her chest heaving.

"Fine, Eudora. You've really grown bold!"

"You had the nerve to write something like this, and now you're pulling the silent treatment? Trying to make me feel guilty? Trying to make me worry?"

Beside her, Aileen tugged gently at her sleeve, her voice trembling.

"Mom, I'm so scared... She wouldn't really strangle me, would she? It's all my fault. Please don't blame her. Maybe... maybe I should just leave home. Once I'm gone, she'll calm down, and you won't be stuck in the middle anymore."

Mom looked at Aileen, cowering and self-sacrificing at her side, then glanced up at the strangers whispering around them.

All that remained in her heart was bottomless irritation and rage.

And in that moment, she made the decision that would jolt her awake in the middle of the night for the rest of her life.

"We're not going home tonight."

"She loves that house so much? Then let her stay in it by herself!"

She helped Aileen to her feet.

"We'll go to the Pinecrest Hot Springs Resort. If we leave now, we'll get there in time to celebrate your birthday. Let her sit at home and think about what she's done. Once she's come to her senses, we can talk about cutting ties for good."

She flicked on the turn signal. The car merged onto the highway heading out of the city, its taillights shrinking into the darkness, farther and farther from home.

In the house, only the ticking of the clock remained.

The phone that had been vibrating over and over was trapped beneath my body.

It buzzed against the hardwood floor, a muffled hum like some futile cry no one could hear.

The lit screen showed multiple missed calls from Mom.

The newest notification was a text message from her.

"Eudora, don't think sharing my blood gives you the right to do whatever you want. Ally is the only daughter I've ever truly claimed!"

"Stay home and reflect on what you've done. Don't you dare bother me while I'm celebrating Ally's birthday!"

In the days that followed, I did not bother them.

She assumed her threat had worked.

What she didn't know was this:

While she was soaking in hot springs and cutting birthday cake with Aileen, I was curled on the cold floor, slowly beginning to rot.

At the Pinecrest Hot Springs Resort, the air conditioning was set low, and beyond the windows stretched the vast open sea.

But Mom seemed distracted.

A strange tightness pressed against her chest, an unease she couldn't name, making it impossible to sit still.

She tapped her phone screen awake. Her finger drifted instinctively to the home security app, wanting to check on me, to see what I was doing.

But then she remembered that photograph covered in vicious words, and the text message I'd never answered. Her brow furrowed, and she shoved the phone back into her purse.

Aileen was a master at playing the victim.

To squeeze a little more sympathy out of Mom, she deliberately crashed into the pool wall while swimming that evening, leaving a sprawl of bruises across her shoulder.

"Mom, my shoulder hurts so bad. I can't move it."

Mom had no choice but to wrap an arm around her waist and walk her back to the room, one slow step at a time.

They passed a little boy holding both his parents' hands. He called out loudly, "That lady loves her big sister the most! Just like Mommy loves me the most!"

Mom's steps faltered. She forced a smile that didn't quite hold.

The next second, she corrected him almost on instinct. "Sweetie, the person a mother loves most will always be her own child."

The words left her mouth, and she froze where she stood.