At 3 AM, My Daughter Texted

“and Mom, you’ll always have a room here for when you want to stay over.” By November that room had a Peloton, four boxes of Patricia’s seasonal decor, and a dress form. A dress form. Patricia does some kind of fabric arts.

There was no room for me. Literally. The room with my name implied on it had become storage for another woman’s hobbies.

My birthday continue reading …