MOMMY ISSUES | Tamber

12

Tara sat motionless on the couch, an old photo album cradled in her lap. Her fingers traced almost reverently over the smiling faces frozen in time—images of her and Amber, happy and in love. A tear slipped down her cheek, splashing onto the plastic film and distorting Amber's bright grin. Tara's shoulders began to shake with choked sobs as the dam broke.

"I'm just like her...like my mother," Tara thought, her mind consumed with guilt. "I wreck everything good in my life with my sickness."

Memories flashed rapidly in her mind:

Amber wrapping her in a tender embrace, soft kisses trailing down her neck.

Amber's achingly patient smile as she guided Tara through breathing exercises during a panic attack.

Amber pulling Tara back from the brink of a drunken blackout, cradling her gently.

"She was so good to me...better than I ever deserved. And I destroyed her," Tara thought, the weight of her regret pressing down on her.

The onslaught continued, images of their happier times juxtaposed in harsh relief with the shattering aftermath.

Amber's beautiful features twisted with rage as she rained blows down on a cowering Tara.

Amber's tear-stained face, hollowed by bitter resignation as she walked away for the final time.

"She deserves so much more than my fucked-up baggage," Tara whispered to herself.

With trembling hands, she set the album aside and rose unsteadily to her feet. She padded to the kitchen in a daze, her mind still reeling from the torrent of memories and emotions.

After an endless moment, the metallic scrape of a knife being drawn echoed through the room. Tara emerged from the kitchen, the blade glinting coldly in her grasp.

-

Tara sat on the closed toilet, shivering despite the steam still billowing from the shower stall. Deep, vicious cuts scored both of her forearms, with rivulets of crimson slowly oozing down her skin. Her phone rested on the edge of the sink. After a moment's hesitation, she picked it up and navigated to her contacts with clumsy, shaking fingers.

Amber's name filled the screen. Tara hit CALL with her thumb and pressed the device to her ear with a choked whimper. The line rang and rang before finally rolling over to voicemail. Amber's bright, laughing tones filled the small bathroom.

"Hey, it's me! Leave a message after that annoying beep, 'kay?"

BEEP.

Tara's face crumpled as she fought to draw breath, the agony of this fragile connection to her lost love overwhelming her. But no words came, only a plaintive, heartbroken sob.

-

The next morning, Tara sat slumped over her desk in the wan morning light, hollow-eyed and barely coherent. The harsh fluorescents accentuated the sickly pallor of her features, highlighting the stark lines of pain etched into her expression. Her body ached with a deep, relentless fatigue, and her mind was a fog of despair.

Mr. Fowler, her boss, appeared at the doorframe and rapped hesitantly, his brow furrowed with concern. Tara twitched groggily at the sound, blinking up at him through a matted tangle of hair. She could barely muster the energy to acknowledge his presence, her gaze distant and unfocused.

"Tara? I don't... you don't look so hot this morning," Mr. Fowler said, his voice tinged with worry. He took a few steps inside, his agitation growing as he examined her more closely. The sight of her in such a state, so far removed from her usual self, made his stomach churn with unease.

"In fact, you look like death warmed over. Maybe you should—" he began, but as he reached out to her, his sleeve rode up, and Tara flinched violently back, her eyes flying wide in panic. The reaction was immediate and visceral, a stark reminder of the fragility that now defined her.

Mr. Fowler froze, his mouth hanging open in shock at her response. He had never seen her like this before, and the sight left him momentarily speechless. He took a breath, softening his tone as he tried to convey his genuine concern. "...Okay then. That's it, I'm calling your emergency contact to come pick you up. You're in no shape to be here right now, hon."

As he reached for his phone, determined to follow through, Tara sagged back in her chair, eyes slipping shut in abject misery. She knew he was right, but the thought of anyone seeing her in this state was almost too much to bear. Just then, her own phone buzzed insistently in her bag. The persistent vibration was a cruel reminder of the call she had made the night before—no doubt Amber calling her back. Tara's heart ached with the weight of regret and longing, her body numb to everything but the sorrow that consumed her.