In the glow of the summer night, my soft sigh enraptures my nerves.

“I need to do it,” I murmur. “It’s for the best, after all.”

My face tightens and my chest etches a burning, tingling, sensation. Still, I grab hold of my wallet, peering my eyes at the clothes drying atop my wardrobe. My heart is beating, beating wrong. The pulsing makes me shiver and my eyes can’t help but water.

Today’s the day I can finally change. The day I’ve been waiting for, yet why do I feel as though regret will only fester on the other side of that door?

I shake my head and take a breath.

The scent of my pyjamas fill me with nothing but nostalgia. The skirts she gave me, the sweaters she bought, the simple hand-me-downs. Every memory rushes through me, leaving me with bittersweet notes. My vision blurs.

Once I’ve packed all my clothes in the duffel bag, I take one last look at my room.

Love, nothing but love. I’ve been loved, loved and cherished time and time again. Pictures of smiles, goofy faces, the accolades and the countless gifts sprout from nothing but pure affection, yet why must it be this way?

Does it have to be this way?

The crumpled notes dumped in my pink bin linger and taunt me. What I’ve written there was far too vulnerable for her to see. Far too raw, but I guess it won’t matter anyway. I rummage through the ink and paper, carefully reading each sentence from each sappy letter.

“Would she even care?”

…

“Of course she would, no question about it.”

I place the letter on my bedside table, and leave it at that.

As my footsteps creak on the floor, I take a glimpse at the living room. Doubt grows every step of the way.

What if I can’t make it out there? What if she’s right? What if I’m not ready for what’s to come? What if I end up hurting myself in the process?

I make it to the main door. The doubt echoes and aches my head.

What if I never leave? What happens then, if it all really does come down to her approval, her smile, and the warmth she gifts me for simply staying still? Will this really make me grow, or is this just another act of rebellion?

What if I’m stuck here, stuck not knowing who I really could’ve been?

The constant routine of my waking day, the lows and the mundane. Restricting myself, bound to the protection under this roof, under her light.

I leave the main door ajar. Going to the room next to mine, I see her sleeping soundly. Wrinkles adorn the sides of her eyes, her white hair peeking out through the brown dye. I kiss her forehead, my last goodbye.

I love my mom. I really do. But I’ve got to do it for me, and I hope she knows I did it for her, too.

The main door creaks, and the crack of light leaves.