“Unveiling Resilience: How Monika Dutt’s ‘My Rock’ Transforms Heartbreak into Strength”
Then —
You are running back to me, across the field, backpack bouncing. Maybe you have forgotten something. Then you are in front of me, tears dripping off your eyelashes.
“Ma. Please. Please. Don’t make me stay here.”
You do not touch me as you adhere to pre-teen social norms. Yet I feel you clinging to me, all eleven years and 363 days of you. Your eyes skitter side-to-side as you beg, checking if anyone is watching you.
“Kail… just give this place a chance,” I beg in return. My heart is crumbling. I am sinking into a place deep inside me where you originated. That place is bleeding, seeing you in such anguish. But I convince myself that if you just try harder, this will work. This is a ridiculously privileged problem: my kid hates his expensive summer camp. Somehow, though, this feels like the crux of motherhood in a moment. An essence playing out in your clenched fists and wet face.
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