Unwritten Daughter — The Note on the Pillow

everything I own fits in one bag I left three things the green dress the pack crazed ring and a note on my mother's pillow I waited a year don't come looking W then I crossed the county line at 12 14 a.m. on my real 18th birthday day, and I did not cry. 200 miles later, I pulled into a gas station under a buzzing

yellow light and did the one thing I'd promised myself I wouldn't. I checked my hours gone, a year absent, surely. No texts, no voicemails, zero missed calls. I laughed Laughed until my ribs hurt. Then laughed until I was crying.

Then I dropped the phone in the trash. Got back on my bike and rode toward the only people on earth who had ever put my name in Six days to reach the Raven Guard. I didn't know that on the 7th, the day they thought was my birthday,

my mother would walk into an empty bedroom and start screaming. three missed calls in 11 minutes mom dad asher declan mom mom mom 372 days of silence and now