“It’ll all end in tears.” That’s what my mother said. She didn’t like me flirting with older men.
You and me have had more than our fair share. We’ve had fifteen years of fighting – all because you don’t know when to stop.
You ignore me – I shout – you carry on – it gets out of hand.
And then – SMACK.
Lots of tears – sorry – I still love you.
I’ve loved you since the very first moment I saw you. Even after you almost killed me. I remember waking with pain from stitches, groggy from the loss of blood. You stayed next to my hospital bed for two weeks, looking innocent and charming all the nurses.
But now you’ve been disappearing out the door every night. I guessed what you were up to.
All those nights out with the girls – teenagers – I’m not daft – I’ve seen it all before.
I’d lie awake listening and hoping you’d come back home to bed.
Then suddenly, you were back – back in my arms looking for forgiveness. We cuddled like we used to, and you fell asleep with your head against my shoulder. I should have guessed you’d gone too far again.
I found your test result showing positive. That’s it – your wild life is over and it’s time to take responsibility for what you’ve done. I still love you and always will; that’s what mothers do.