The Scattered Bones

by Nicole Scarano

Tears battled my will as I watched her pray. I craved her affection, her attention, her acknowledgment, but she offered none. I was an object to her, and it carved a jagged hole in my chest. I didn’t even need her to hug me. I simply hoped she would meet my gaze and ask me how I was, but she left with a prayer and a bow. Both aimed at the altar and not her daughter.

holy mother of mommy issues