When I met him, I was twenty-two years old, loved to laugh, and my motto was "That's almost enough."
His house is an adobe house, which I think doesn't matter.
No house, no car, no gift, I think it doesn't matter.
My mother and his mother had a huge argument before the birth, and I was caught in the middle, not knowing who to speak for.
It doesn't seem to matter.
Until the baby was born, I couldn't sleep all night, tears would fall at any time, and those images were played over and over in my mind.
The doctor said I had severe postpartum depression.
Late that night, I passed by the mirror and saw a woman with gray hair.
She was twenty-six years old and changed beyond recognition.
I almost didn't recognize it was me.
It turns out that some things cannot be "almost" passed.
