They Called Me “Poor Old Mom”—So I Bought a One-Way Freedom Ticket

Thomas, I sat on the villa terrace exactly like I said I would.

White wine sweating in a glass.

Salt in the air.

My hair wild in the breeze like I was nineteen again and nobody could tell me to pin it down.

I stared at the horizon until it blurred.

Then, because I am still a mother—even now—I did the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t.

I turned my powered-off continue reading …