When did you realize your mother was sabotaging your life?
When Did You Realize Your Mother Was Sabotaging Your Life?
I was standing in my mother’s kitchen on Thanksgiving at exactly 7:23 p.m.
My cousin Jerome’s wife showed me Facebook messages that explained why none of my relationships had lasted more than three months in seven years.
I’d only been dating Sloan for two weeks, somehow convinced this time would be different. She was right there drying dishes next to my mom, completely unaware she was already being targeted.
Natasha pulled me into the hallway, her voice barely a whisper.
“Something weird happened before I married Jerome.” “This woman claiming to be your ex-girlfriend messaged me.” “Said you told her Jerome beats women.” “Said he broke your nose once.”
Her hands shook as she showed me her phone. I almost called off the wedding.
I haven’t talked to my ex since 2016. She showed me the account: Terresa Vilobos. My ex’s name, and her old profile picture from college.
But the writing, the triple dots, spelling definitely as “definitely,” and calling everyone “sweetheart”—I just thought you should know the truth, sweetheart. Jerome is dangerous.
My blood went cold. That was mom.
I walked back into that kitchen feeling like I was underwater. Mom stood at the sink, her hands red from the scalding water, scrubbing the same plate over and over. She always overwashed when she was nervous.
“Mom, we need to talk.” “Not now, honey. I’m having such a lovely chat with Sloan.”
Her voice was sing-song sweet, the same tone from when she’d accidentally told my high school girlfriend I was gay. Sloan dried another plate.
“Actually, the weirdest thing happened yesterday.” “Someone claiming to be your ex messaged me, said you gave her herpes.”
The plate slipped from my hand, shattered on the tile. Mom turned around, face perfectly calm.
“You shouldn’t discuss ex-girlfriends at family dinner.” “You messaged her.” “How could I message anyone? I don’t even have Facebook.”
The little smirk twitched at her mouth. “Show me your phone.” She clutched it to her chest.
“This is ridiculous. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Sloan pulled up her phone: 17 messages in two weeks. First from Teresa, then someone named Wanda claiming to be your coworker, then Leona, your concerned cousin.
Natasha appeared in the doorway. “I just searched the Teresa account.” She continued, “Created 2017. Only friends with women who appear in photos with you or Jerome.” Twenty-three total.
“Penelopey?” I asked. “Mom blocked me after two months. Someone told her I was married.” “Ingred got a call about my secret baby.” “Destiny got fired because someone said I was stalking her.” “How many?”
Mom’s mask cracked. “Those girls were trash. Penelopey with those tattoos. Ingred who couldn’t cook. That bartender.”
“You want her raising my grandchildren?” “Your grandchildren? I can’t even keep a girlfriend because they’re weak.”
She slammed the counter. “A real woman would fight for you.”
Sloan set down the towel, grabbed her purse, and started walking out. Mom’s eyes lit up.
“See? Running just like the others. Too weak.”
I followed Sloan. Mom followed us both, screaming down the driveway. “She’s not good enough. You’ll thank me someday.”
