Being the One Left Behind

A witness to the invisible battle

Photo by Mike Labrum on Unsplash

It was seven in the morning. My mum showed up on the doorstep of my room. Her expression made me sit up and I started to shake before she could even begin to speak. She said: Your dad… and she couldn’t continue. She didn’t cry. She had just no life in her eyes or in her voice. I knew that it was bad, very bad. I sat up and yelled at her, tell me, talk to me, is…