Chapter 12 - Mom Didn’t Let Me Turn Her Into a Hero Either
When the story spread through the family, everyone wanted to celebrate Evelyn.
Seventy-six years old.
Frail.
Caught the wrist.
Slapped Celeste.
Kicked her into a cabinet.
Mom hated the way people told it.
“I’m not an action movie,” she snapped at my cousin.
Then she looked at me.
“I shouldn’t have kicked her once I had space.”
That surprised me.
“She slapped you and tried to drug you.”
“I know exactly what she did.”
“You were defending yourself.”
“At first.”
Mom was precise.
Catching the second slap?
Defense.
Throwing Celeste’s wrist away?
Defense.
Getting off the bed because she refused to remain physically trapped?
Necessary.
The slap and kick afterward?
Anger mixed with fear.
“I wanted her away from me,” Mom said. “But I also wanted her to hurt.”
She refused to pretend otherwise.
That became one more lesson I had not expected.
Accountability did not belong only to villains.
People could be victims and still examine their own choices.
Celeste’s conduct remained far more serious.
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That did not require Mom to rewrite herself as perfect.
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