Page 104 of For Fillies and Monsters

“It’s been coming for years, baby. And I know he’s tired. He’s so tired and ready for it to be over.” I grip the phone tighter, the metal cracking in my grip. Even now, even at the moment where we are discussing her own fucking death at the hands of that snake, my mother is more concerned about him. Not for herself, and certainly not for the daughter she is leaving behind. Not the daughter she is dumping this final goodbye onto.

Why? Why is she this way?

“I know I haven’t been a good mother to you. I know you deserved so much more. I hope…” She pauses, this time a crack of emotion coming through the line. “I hope you found the family, friends, and life that you wanted. I hope you moved on. You deserve that. You deserve happiness.”

“Mom, stop. I will call the police. I will get help,” I plead, but I’m cut off by my mother’s harsh voice.

“No.”

“I don’t understand.” Tears fall over my cheeks, but I barely notice them.

“You don’t have to. It’s love. It’s what we do for love, honey.”

This can’t be love—willing to die for someone, even if it’s at their hands. I don’t know anything about love; I’m sure I havenever truly felt it. But I know dying for someone, someone who is willing and plans to kill you, is not love.

“You don’t deserve this.” It’s all I can think of to say.

My mother laughs softly, her voice still scratchy and weak. “I deserve so much worse.”

Tears cascade down my face now, unchecked, hot and angry, racing toward the floor where they splash around my toes. Anger quickly replaces sadness, and I fight the urge to scream. Black crawls over the edges of my vision, my body vibrating with hatred and disgust filling me with no outlet.

Why can’t my mother love me enough? Why is she so okay leaving me for him?

“Why did you call?” Hatred, cold and bitter, fills my voice—I can’t control it, even if I wanted to.

My mother sighs, a sound almost like relief filling her voice. “I understand you’re angry. I am sorry. I wanted to tell you goodbye. And I wanted to tell you not to come back here, ever.” My mother’s voice is soft, defeated, but I know she’s serious. She doesn’t want me to come for her, to come back to that ranch that has been her personal hell for over a decade.

But fuck her. She lost the right to tell me what to do years ago.

“I will do whatever I want.” Some part of me knows I shouldn’t be so angry, should be saying all the things I’ve wanted to from the years we’ve been apart—tell her I love her and forgive her. If this really is the last time I ever speak to her, I should make my peace and say my goodbyes.

But I can’t. No amount of personal growth could have prepared me for such an ending.

And I. Do. Not. Accept. It.

This is supposed to happen differently; my mother is supposed to get a different ending. I am supposedto get a different goodbye.

“I’m telling you, do not come back here. I don’t want you to come to my funeral. I don’t want you to face your father. I don’t want you to live or breathe this Texas air for even a second ever again. When we go, the ranch will become yours. But I forbid you from claiming it. Let it go, let it wilt up and die. Let someone else take it over. I don’t care, but don’t you dare come back here. Do you understand me?” I don’t hear a hint of fear or uncertainty in her words—no tremor or sadness. Just the hollow echo of death and loss—like she is already gone, calling me from the other side.

“Mom.” My voice breaks, searching for the right words to say, to stop her. To pull her back from the edge.

“I do not want you here.” Then the line goes dead, the dial tone blaring on the other end like she ripped the landline from the wall instead of hanging up.

My body trembles—sucking in a shaky breath, I reach for my car keys. I’ve always done what I wanted, and I’m not about to stop today.

I continue to replay the conversation over and over in my mind—her words the only sound filling my head besides my racing heart. I have to get there. I have to save her from herself. If for no other reason than to show my mother she deserves better.

Because if my mother doesn’t deserve better—a second chance at life—what hope is there for me?

I tear down the driveway, my knuckles cracking from the strangling grip I maintained on the steering wheel for eight hours straight. My nerves are frayed to the point of pain, mymuscles aching and sore. I stopped only once for gas, not even bothering to go into the store. It’s like I’ve been out of my body for the last eight hours and I’m only now realizing I’ve driven all the wayhere.

I am completely out of my mind.

The sun streaks across the early morning sky, pale yellows mixing with pastel blues and pinks. Flowers blossom in every direction, the grass a vibrant green, and birds flutter about, ignorant of the evil of the world. As I get closer to the old house, it’s like the plague has spread, killing everything it touched; the grass is already dried and wilted, the trees hanging limply over the gravelway, and the fences lean to the point of falling.

I freeze, the tires of the car coming to a screeching halt. It’s been ten years since I’ve been back here. Nothing looks different, yet everything feels different.I am different.And it takes every ounce of will to not turn around and run like I have every other minute of my life.

“Remember why you’re here, you coward.” I don’t actually know what I’m doing—or what I planned to do once I got here. But now that I’m here, the memories clogging my senses, I know I have no choice but to get out and face whatever may come—whoever may come.

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