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I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown I’m not sure I can escape.

And even though I know better than to expect anything from the woman who gave birth to me, there is still a part of me deep down that wants to believe that somewhere inside her is the tiniest flicker of a real mother.

I wait for any reply, but when it doesn’t come, I pull the phone away from my ear to find the line already disconnected.

“Shit.”

No matter how badly I want to pretend I don’t care, the same disappointment and hollowness that always consumes me when it comes to her hits hard.

I toss my phone onto the step beside me and bury my face in my hands, allowing myself a few brief seconds to fall apart before I have to get my shit together again.

Just ten seconds to cry.

Ten seconds to feel sorry for myself.

Ten seconds to dwell on what I’ve lost.

Ten seconds to crumble.

Tears fall, mixing with broken sobs.

10.

Like I did inside these walls as a child, I cry.

9.

I let it all out.

8.

All the frustration and loss.

7.

The fear and anxiety.

6.

The questions that don’t have answers.

5.

It flows from me fully for the first time since this all started.

4.

But there is one person I refuse to cry for.

3.

Father won’t get a single drop.

2.

I won’t waste them on him.

1.