I fell into the seat beside her as if I’d never done anything else. Curled up against her shoulder like a small, scared child and clutched my arms around her willowy frame, soaking up the soft jasmine scent of her body, the quiet strength of her touch, the soothing, unmistakable warmth of living human skin. She let out a choked sound and cradled me in her arms, forehead bumping against the crown of my head – my mother, holding me.
The way this heals the mother wound...
