Page 144 of The Temptation of Truth
My father didn’t even know I existed until years later. It was a rough patch for them, but he understood. My mother had no way of contacting him, and she hid the pregnancy from everyone, including her parents, because purity culture is a fucking trauma demon. Then, when she gave birth, rather than let the whole town know their daughter was a disgrace, her parents took me to the fire station.
My mom was a terrified child, and she had to navigate the whole pregnancy alone. And in the end, it wasn’t even her choice to surrender me. The decision was made for her. I have no idea what I would do in that situation, and I’m not angry anymore. I just know that I’m glad to have her in my life now.
“Oh, before I forget, your mail is right there on the table.”
“Thanks,” I say around a spoonful of yogurt, then I shuffle through the pile.
I wouldn’t expect it to be so big when I was only gone for two weeks, but I feel like I’m opening bills, packages, and fan mail for an hour. Then I get to the last package, a plain white bubble mailer with international postage, and a strange feeling fills me.
I recognize this handwriting.
I set the open, half-eaten yogurt on the table and start walking toward the door.
“Hey, Sav, I’m heading back to my house. See you later.”
“Oh, okay. Well, nice to see you, bitch. Bye!”
I’m at my house in less than five minutes, and I tear open the package before I’m even through the door. When I have the contents in my hand, I start to cry.
It’s a worn journal, brown leather with deckled edges, and it’s so thick that the strip of leather keeping it closed is stretched tight.
My knees buckle, and I sit on the floor right in my foyer. I turn the package upside down, but there’s no note. No card. Just the journal.
Aurora’s journal.
My hands are shaking as I open it, and on the first page is a pressed flower, a pink moth orchid, and a poem written in purple pen. My hand flies to my pendant, and as I read the poem, my tears come faster.
Be Light, She said,
and the Dark will forget.
she found me (small
as a whisper) curled
in the elbow of Midnight,
deep in the crevice of Never.
Stuck.
Be Light, She said
and push through.
so i dared
to
burn
no trumpet Moon,
no skyshout Star.
just this Stubborn glow
barefoot, stumbling
