The hardest part is the awful things that I've seen
Ashley
I first started noticing changes in my Mom's behavior in November of 2001. She started coming out of her room less and less. When she did, she was sluggish and red-eyed.
"Mom, are you okay?" I'd ask.
"Yeah!" she'd snap.
One snowy December day, I was outside playing when I heard screaming from Mom's window. I figured they were screwing and went back to throwing snowballs at my friends. I went back in when the screaming wouldn't stop.
"Mom?!" I called. "Stacey?!"
"GO AWAY BRANDY!" Stacey yelled, opening the bedroom door.
"Don't go Brandy!" Mom whimpered from behind Stacey's back. "Call 911, now!"
"Don't listen to her, Brandy!" Stacey shouted, and slammed the door. I stood there and counted to ten. I got to eight when the door reopened and Mom emerged.
"Do I need to call 911, Mom?" I asked.
She sniffled. "No, forget I said that." She had a huge purple bruise on her left eye.
That night, Stacey left to "go out" and I went to bed. At about 2:00 am, Mom woke me up.
"Get on the couch now." She said, no sign of maternity in her voice.
I did as I was told, and the next morning, all of Stacey's shit was strewn all over the floor.
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!!" Mom screamed into her cellphone.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Stacey went back to his ex-wife." She sniffled. "He's leaving me. And I loved him so much. How could he DO THIS?!"
So for three whole days, Stacey's shit remained in our hallway. On the 4th day, I woke up to Mom cooking pancakes.
And Stacey sitting at the kitchen table.
"Mom, are you okay?" I'd ask.
"Yeah!" she'd snap.
One snowy December day, I was outside playing when I heard screaming from Mom's window. I figured they were screwing and went back to throwing snowballs at my friends. I went back in when the screaming wouldn't stop.
"Mom?!" I called. "Stacey?!"
"GO AWAY BRANDY!" Stacey yelled, opening the bedroom door.
"Don't go Brandy!" Mom whimpered from behind Stacey's back. "Call 911, now!"
"Don't listen to her, Brandy!" Stacey shouted, and slammed the door. I stood there and counted to ten. I got to eight when the door reopened and Mom emerged.
"Do I need to call 911, Mom?" I asked.
She sniffled. "No, forget I said that." She had a huge purple bruise on her left eye.
That night, Stacey left to "go out" and I went to bed. At about 2:00 am, Mom woke me up.
"Get on the couch now." She said, no sign of maternity in her voice.
I did as I was told, and the next morning, all of Stacey's shit was strewn all over the floor.
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!!" Mom screamed into her cellphone.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Stacey went back to his ex-wife." She sniffled. "He's leaving me. And I loved him so much. How could he DO THIS?!"
So for three whole days, Stacey's shit remained in our hallway. On the 4th day, I woke up to Mom cooking pancakes.
And Stacey sitting at the kitchen table.