Gemotions

“I don’t even know who you are,” I whispered to the screen, my reflection staring back at me. The carefully crafted images, the curated stories, it was all so foreign. My daughter, Chloe, a girl who talked to me every day, was a ghost in this online space.

My jaw ached. I’d been clenching it for hours. The coffee table was littered with crumpled tissues, the remnants of my useless tears. I felt the familiar ache in my chest, a hollowness that seemed to expand with every passing second.

I’d tried to be a good mother. I'd really tried. But the proof was there, undeniable. I turned away, the words catching in my throat. I would go get a glass of water. Then I’d decide what to do. Eventually.