When I Needed Her Most

When I was seven,
my mom was a ghost
with heavy eyelids and a shaking voice.
She floated through the house,
not seeing me,
not seeing anything.

I hid for a while in the quiet
of my grandparents’ home,
where the air smelled like Sunday dinners
and safety.
They never spoke about why I was there,
or where mom went.
They just held me a little tighter
when the nights felt long.

She came back different,
eyes clearer, voice steadier,
but I still watched her from a distance,
waiting to see if she would disappear again.
She did, a couple more times.

Until the day she learned
the man she trusted
was the wolf at my bedroom door.
When I needed her most,
she found herself.
And it finally set her free.

Maybe things happen
for a reason, sometimes.