Page 13 of Press Play

It’s been months since I went no contact with her. After years of her mental manipulation, of breaking me down with every word, I finally cut her off. But just the thought of her standing outside my door sends me spiraling.

A knock sounds, louder this time, and I flinch.

“Wren?” My mother’s voice cuts through the door—sharp, demanding. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

Brandy’s expression softens, and she stands, walking over to me with steady, calm steps. “Wren, breathe,” she says softly, placing a comforting hand on my arm. “You don’t have to answer.”

I nod, but my breath feels shallow, my chest tightening. “She doesn’t take no for an answer,” I whisper. “What if she doesn’t leave?”

The last time I spoke to her, we screamed at each other. She called me selfish, ungrateful. I told her I couldn’t take it anymore, that I couldn’t handle her abuse.

I haven’t seen her since.

Brandy doesn’t hesitate. “Do you want me to handle it?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm.

I grip the edge of the counter, my fingers digging into the surface. I can’t face her. Not now. Not ever. Every time I let herback in, she tears me apart, breaks me down until I’m nothing. I’ve spent months in therapy, trying to rebuild myself after everything she’s done, and now, just the sound of her voice has me crumbling.

Brandy gives me a quick, reassuring look and steps toward the door. “Wren, you don’t owe her anything,” she says. “You’re allowed to keep her out.”

I nod, my throat tight as I watch her approach the door, unable to speak.

She opens it just a crack, standing firm between me and my mother. “Wren doesn’t want to talk to you,” Brandy says, her voice steady. “You need to leave.”

There’s a tense pause, and I feel the weight of my mother’s glare through the door, even though I can’t see her.

“Excuse me?” My mother’s voice drips with disdain. “I’m her mother. I have every right to speak with her.”

“No,” Brandy replies, her tone hardening. “You don’t. Not after what you’ve done. Now, leave before I call the cops.”

The silence that follows is heavy, like the calm before a storm.

I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of guilt and manipulation, the same tactics she’s always used to control me.

“You think you can cut me off, Wren?” My mother’s voice rises, venomous and angry. “You think you can ignore me? You owe me after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her words sink in like claws, dragging up all the guilt and self-doubt I’ve fought so hard to overcome. Tears sting my eyes as her voice echoes through the apartment. It’s always the same: guilt trips, accusations, making everything my fault.

Brandy doesn’t move. “She doesn’t owe you anything,” she states as a fact. “Now leave.”

Another pause.

And then, finally, I hear my mother’s footsteps retreat, her angry muttering fading as she leaves.

Brandy closes the door gently, turning back to me. “She’s gone.”

I crumble. My knees give out, and I slide to the floor, pulling them to my chest as the tears spill over. Brandy is beside me in an instant, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tight while I sob into her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “She’s gone now. You’re safe.”

I nod, but the tightness in my chest remains, the weight of her presence still pressing down on me. I did the right thing by cutting her off, by not letting her back in. But why does it still hurt so much?

Brandy tightens her hold on me, grounding me with her steady presence. “You’ve come so far, Wren,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to let her back in. You’ve built a life without her, and you’re stronger now.”

“I know,” I choke out, my voice raw. “I just... I didn’t expect her to show up like that.”

Brandy pulls back slightly, her eyes full of warmth and understanding. “You’ve got people who love you. We won’t let her tear you down again.”

I nod once more, wiping at my tears, my body still trembling from the adrenaline.

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