21
126words
I took Evelyn's diary home to the house I hadn't been in for two years.
The moment I opened the door my mother looked aged. Her eyes were red but the sorrow was shortlived and the hate returned.
"You didn't die? I thought you killed yourself," she hissed.
I raised my bandaged hand calmly: "Almost."
Before she could erupt I set the diary on the table. She didn't reach for it.
I left and looked at her: "Mom. Evelyn and I were both living people."
Evelyn was shy by nature: gentle yet fragile like something with no outlet.
Negative emotions from our mother accumulated until she couldn't hold them in, then she was gone.
