Months went by without Mama, each one stretchin’ longer than the last, like time itself was tryin’ to teach me how to live without her. I wrote her letters, page after page, pourin’ out my little heart in crooked handwriting, hopin’ she’d write back. I told her about school, about Daddy, about the dreams I tried not to have. I told her I missed her. I told her I loved her.
But the mailbox stayed empty. No envelope with her handwriting. No phone call. No sign she remembered I existed.
I tried not to let the silence bother me, but silence has a way of echoing louder than words. It cut deep; deeper than anything Mama had ever said to me.
My tenth birthday came and went without even a “Happy Birthday” from her. Not a card. Not a call. Not a whisper of acknowledgment.
My uncles called, though, Uncle Terry, Uncle James, even Uncle Ronnie. They sent presents wrapped in newspaper and duct tape, the way they always did. They told me they loved me, told me I was still their niece no matter what Marlene said. That meant somethin’. It told me I still had family who saw me as theirs, even if Mama didn’t.
Daddy saw the hurt in my eyes, the way I tried to smile through it. He saw how I lingered by the phone, pretendin’ I wasn’t waitin’ for it to ring. So, he and Grandma Odette threw me a birthday party.
They invited half the parish; folks Daddy knew from work, neighbors, cousins, people who’d known Odette since she was knee‑high. Kids ran around the yard, chasin’ each other through the grass, laughin’ loud enough to drown out the ache in my chest.
I won’t lie; I had fun.
It felt good to be around kids my age who weren’t from Mama’s church or the private school she forced me into. Kids who didn’t look at me like I was cursed. Kids who didn’t whisper “devil child” behind their hands. Kids who laughed with me, not at me.
For a little while, I forgot about Mama’s absence. I forgot about the whispers. I forgot about the hurt.
For that time, I was able to enjoy myself without worryin’ if I was bein’ judged.
There were still mornings when I woke up expectin’ Mama to be in the kitchen, hummin’ gospel and fryin’ eggs. Sometimes I’d walk into the living room thinkin’ I’d hear her preachin’ to the TV. But eventually, that heavy feelin’ faded. I accepted the reality; it was just me, Daddy, and Odette now.
Daddy grew at peace with it too.
He and his lawyers kept in contact with Mama’s lawyers, tryin’ to finish the divorce quick. Daddy did everything his lawyers advised. The problem was Mama refused to accept any agreement they sent her way.
I didn’t understand why. Daddy was givin’ her everything she asked for.
She didn’t want 50/50 custody, so Daddy agreed to let her choose summers and whatever holidays she wanted. She still wasn’t satisfied.
He even offered to let her terminate her parental rights without payin’ child support. She refused that too.
One afternoon, Odette sat rockin’ on her porch, her chair creakin’ in rhythm with the cicadas. She looked at me with that steady gaze of hers and said,
“Chile, I’ll tell you ’bout your mama. Marlene let herself bite off more than she could chew. She filed for divorce all in her feelin’s; feelin’ holier than thou, mighty and righteous. Now she sees your daddy ain’t runnin’ after her, reality hittin’ her hard.”
She shook her head, braid swingin’.
“She don’t want a divorce from Elias, but her pride won’t let her admit it. Funny how she judge everybody by that Bible of hers but ignore her own sins. What that scripture say ’bout pride? ‘A man’s pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the humble in spirit.’ Yo mama let pride lead her back to Mississippi. Let her lay her head down in shame.”
I believed her.
Odette told me to let Mama and Daddy handle their business and focus on myself. So, I did.
Daddy didn’t seem bothered by the delays. He said if Marlene wanted to waste her money on lawyers and court fees, that was her choice. He was doin’ him and he was happy for it.
He went to work. Hung out with friends. Kept bein’ a daddy to his baby girl.
He was livin’ life while Mama was in Mississippi slowly unravelin’.
At least that’s what Uncle Terry said when he called a few months later, askin’ Daddy to talk to Mama. Daddy didn’t. He said he’d spent too many years tryin’ to fix what wasn’t his to fix.
It was tellin’ how far Mama had let herself fall into her beliefs, how deep she sank into her own righteousness until she couldn’t see daylight.
And while she was drownin’ in pride, Daddy was learnin’ how to breathe again.
