The Monster in the Bottle
Addiction was slowly killing our mother, rocking her gently to sleep like a lullaby buried deep in the foam of a worn mattress, and every piece of her that fell apart we tried to save like it still mattered. When her back teeth fell out, she left them on the edge of the bathtub, and I was seven years old, keeping them in a matchbox so they wouldn’t disappear forever, because maybe one day...
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