I always believed my mother survived my father by staying small. But the night he tried to erase her from our home, I realized she had been quietly preparing for years.
Growing up, I thought my mother was weak. She never raised her voice. Whenever things turned ugly in our house, she would put on her green coat, take the car, disappear for an hour, then return composed.
As a child, I assumed that meant she gave in. Later, I convinced myself it meant she was afraid.
I learnt later at the time that something had shifted. She was too quiet, too sure of herself. Get The Full Story Here