She could not meet her mother's eyes. The text on her mother's phone was still open between them on the kitchen table, the screenshot of what she'd said about her mother to a friend, forwarded by a third person she'd trusted. Her mother was being calm about it, which made it worse. She had written those words thinking they would never come back. She had meant them in the moment and also not really. Now she had to sit with having meant them at all. She kept opening her mouth and closing it. There was no sentence available that wasn't worse than silence.