I read the message twice.
Then I put the phone down.
I didn’t reply.
Not because I hated him, but because I needed time to understand myself before I could decide what I wanted from anyone else.
That night, I cried until I fell asleep.
The following morning, my mother knocked on my door.
“Layla?”
I sat up.
“Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
I hesitated before answering.
“Okay.”
She entered slowly and sat on the edge of my bed.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at me.
“Is everything you told us last night true?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes.
“I don’t understand how we reached this point.”
I looked at my hands.
“Neither do I.”
She took a breath.
“Did you really think I would stop loving you?”
I felt tears rising again.
“I didn’t know what you would do. I only knew how much you cared about what people thought of us.”
