Like my daughter crying in front of police could be turned into a tool if I forgot my place.
My hand did not shake when I clicked the first cancellation.
It surprised me.
I had imagined courage would feel hot.
It felt clean.
Cancel.
Cancel.
Cancel.
Cancel.
The confirmations appeared one after another.
I took screenshots of every one.
Then I sat there until nearly dawn, meeting a version of myself I should have protected years ago.
Kendra called three times the next morning.
I did not answer.
Then my mother texted.
You are punishing everyone because your child misbehaved.
I looked at the message and felt a cold little click inside me.
She sent another one before lunch.
Turn the transfers back on by noon, or I will tell anyone who asks exactly what kind of mother you are.
I took a screenshot.
That afternoon, I made three appointments.
