Jules let out a hollow laugh that echoed strangely in the quiet room.
"I'm not leaving, Annie. I'm cutting off something that keeps bleeding. Every time I see you, I remember how regretful it feels to have a mother like you. And every time you see me, you drown in guilt thinking about what you did. Isn't it better if we part ways?"
Annie's head moved back and forth repeatedly, but this time she did not chase after Jules when she turned to leave.
After the door closed, Annie remained seated for a long time. Slowly, she admitted to herself that Jules had spoken the truth.
From that day onward, Annie only watched her daughter from a distance.
When Jules needed help, Annie sent it quietly, anonymously.
When Jules declined the assistance, Annie did not celebrate it as a sign of lingering attachment. She simply accepted it.
She never saw her daughter again in person. She never saw a granddaughter or a grandson. Jules had made her boundary clear, and Annie respected it.
