Your mother is annoyed. She barks at the receptionist, “It’s all her fault I’m late.” Four minutes. But it was Mom who lost the address.
“If you want me, I’ll be in the car.”
Windows down in the mad heat, waiting forever for an apology that never comes. Long enough to calm down.
She gets in, ragging, “You’re too sensitive.” Like that’s a criminal offense.
Her anger never stops. It circulates, accrues interest. She banks outrage. The only solution is to withdraw.
You will say, “I’m gone.” She will cry. You will come back. You just don’t know when.