Aug 18, 2021
6 min read
A Mother’s Work is Everything
No matter my job title, I always default to Mom.
My index finger runs along the stitching on the arm of the sofa. My husband blurs in my periphery. I blink, and tears roll down my cheeks, soaking into the blanket I’ve wrapped around myself. Worn leather stretches between us in a gulf so wide we might as well be on opposite sides of the world.
