Riches to Rags: Shallow breaths

People have asked me why I didn’t leave him. He would tell me if you try to leave me, I will come to Colonial Beach and blow you to bits, and I am sure he would have done exactly what he said.

My mother’s breathing barely moves the blankets. I climb into her day bed, curling around her and laying my head on hers, gently so as not to wake her. Her hair — so soft, always soft, wavy. When she was in her early 20s, and a mini-skirt wearing college student, she let her hair grow until it reached the small of her back. Before walking to the two miles to school, she’d part it in…