My mother’s mother


I blame it on the way my mum hid in the closet when my dad was in the room.

The way she turned the white of her back from his glance, the way she blushed when he touched her and said, “Not in front of the children,” and the way her mother never let her husband see her scars. The scars from the childhood disease, the scars from birthing children, the scars that made her woman and her husband said they made her beautiful.

(Friends, will you read the rest of this post over here today, at sweet Patty’s? Thank you…

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