Expectations and Decisions

Source (picture of keys)

“She’s on my last fucking nerve today!” Kelsey slammed her keys down on the table, flopped into a chair and forced herself to take deep breaths. She had to get her composure back before she went back out there.

Aimee poked her head out of her office. “Do you want me to get your mom out of the car?”

“Is it ok if I hide in the bedroom for a few minutes?”

“Yeah. Go. Take a break.” Aimee kissed her on the head. “You’re doing great, Honey. It’s ok to be frustrated.”

Aimee left through the back door, allowing Kelsey to retreat and find her composure. She closed the bedroom door and fell onto the bed, sobbing for what felt like the thousandth time that week.

Aimee entered quietly forty minutes later. “She’s settled in front of her TV with her lunch. How bad was it?”

“She told the doctor I was keeping her locked up in a lesbian prison, then berated me all the way home for my immoral lifestyle and told me I should stay out of her business. Why are we doing this again?”

“We don’t have to,” Aimee said, plainly. “You don’t have to accept her abuse anymore.”

“Yeah. I just thought if we let her stay with us, cared for her, maybe she would…”

“Accept your immoral lifestyle? See us as an legitimate couple? Treat you how she should have always treated you as a mother?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

“It’s pretty deep conditioning isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Kelsey sobbed again and Aimee wrapped her arms around her pulling her to her chest.”

When she finished, Aimee kissed her forehead gently, “You are enough and you deserved to be loved unconditionally by your mother. I’m sorry you aren’t getting that from her.”

“Me too.”

“So. What do you want to do.”

“I want to start the process of getting her placed, but… I’m going to tell her what’s happening, lay down some ground rules and tell her we’ll reconsider if she manages to treat us respectfully.”

“Do you think she will?”

“No. But I want to be sure I gave her the opportunity.”

“Ok. I support all of that.” She kissed Kelsey on the forehead and moved back to the edge of the bed, standing up. “I’m going to go check on her.”

“Ok. I’ll call the social worker and get things started.”

“I’m proud of you, Babe.”

“Thanks. I think this is the right thing.” She watched Aimee leave, appreciating her gentle, loving support. It had been a rough few weeks and Aimee had barely complained. She as right, too, she didn’t have to accept continued abuse. She picked up her phone and dialed with a sense of relief.

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