I hug her around the waist with my head nuzzled on her chest. "I love you mom," I say. "I'll be back in a few hours," I shout as I close the door behind me.

​

When I walk back inside later that evening, I freeze in my tracks. All the telltale signs of an intruder flood my senses. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge as I scan the room. I can see the disarrayed timeline in the kitchen. Cans strewn across the countertop next to an open jar of olives signal the panic. The lights downstairs aglow with a once comforting warmth, now ominously beckoning to me. 

​

"Hannah?" I hear a slurred voice call up from the staircase, and all of my instincts scream "run," but my body stands frozen in the entryway.

​

She was back. The demon that haunts my nightmares had once again resurfaced.

​

"Yeah, mom, I'm home." I call out. I close my eyes and hold my breath hoping that my reply doesn't elicit the age old response. 

​

"Come downstairs," she slurs and my heart sinks. I walk to the edge of the stairs and brace myself. This is a path I've taken many times, but there is no way of knowing the turmoil that could be awaiting me at the bottom of the stairs. There is no way of knowing anything when "she" is here. 

​

As I reach the bottom step, I look at the couch. Seated in the usual spot is the woman I love the most in the world. But in this instance, like the many that have come before, I know that she is but a shell of the person I love. The demon that hides inside of her has come out to play and she does not play by the rules.

​

The trauma bubbles up and the flashbacks begin as my body and mind attempt to anticipate what could evolve from this encounter. I wish my mom could come save me.