Source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/tinybuddha/~3/vqfWVY9BKYM/
“Never feel sorry for choosing yourself.” ~Unknown
I was eleven years old, possibly twelve, the day I first discovered my mother’s betrayal. I assume she didn’t hear me when I walked in the door after school. The distant voices in the finished basement room of our home drew me in. My mother’s voice was soft as she spoke to her friend. What was she hiding that she didn’t want me to hear?
I leaned in a little bit closer to the opening of the stairs… She was talking about a man she’d met. Her voice changed when she spoke of him. The tone of dreamy wonder when you discover something that makes your heart race. She talked about the way they touched and how she felt being with him.
I felt my body go weak. I could not tell if it was sorrow…
Source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/tinybuddha/~3/vqfWVY9BKYM/
“Never feel sorry for choosing yourself.” ~Unknown
I was eleven years old, possibly twelve, the day I first discovered my mother’s betrayal. I assume she didn’t hear me when I walked in the door after school. The distant voices in the finished basement room of our home drew me in. My mother’s voice was soft as she spoke to her friend. What was she hiding that she didn’t want me to hear?
I leaned in a little bit closer to the opening of the stairs… She was talking about a man she’d met. Her voice changed when she spoke of him. The tone of dreamy wonder when you discover something that makes your heart race. She talked about the way they touched and how she felt being with him.
I felt my body go weak. I could not tell if it was sorrow…
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