My mother left me hungry and lonely at 16. When my…

I need to breathe. You are 16. You will be fine.

Don’t look for me. I stood there for a long time, staring at the words until they blurred. I did not cry.

Crying would have implied surprise, and deep down, beneath the layers of denial, I was not surprised. I was just exhausted. I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash, then pulled it out five seconds later and smoothed it flat on the counter.

I needed proof. If I threw it away, I might convince myself in the morning that she had just gone to the store. For three days, I lived in a state of suspended animation.

I went to school because it was warm and they served free breakfast. I went to my shift at the diner because I needed money for food. I came home to the silent apartment and slept with the lights on.

I told no one. I checked my phone every ten minutes, waiting for a text, a call, a voicemail. I called her number so many times that I memorized the exact cadence of the automated operator telling me the subscriber was unavailable.

I convinced myself she was having an episode. She would cool off. She would run out