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Rose

Dear Diary,

It is Valentine’s Day, and I am full of love for none of the typical reasons.

I got into Cornell! With a scholarship, no less!

The acceptance packet—far more substantial than a letter—came in the mail today. The greatest valentine of all. It said, Will you be mine? And I want so badly to say YES .

In 1956, McCall’s ran an article entitled “The Mother Who Ran Away.” It became the highest single-issue sale ever. In the 1960s, Redbook ’s editors asked readers to provide them with examples of “Why Young Mothers Feel Trapped,” and they received twenty-four thousand replies.

I am not the only one who feels caged.

I am not the only one who daydreams of running away.

On my recent trips to the library, I’ve been researching family structures across time and culture to understand the true importance of the mother.

In traditional Chinese families, the father’s extended family had far more say over child-rearing than the mother in the nuclear family.

Among the Cheyenne, a girl is expected to have a strained relationship with her mother and to go to her aunt for comfort and guidance.

The Zinacantecos of southern Mexico lack a word differentiating parents and children from other social groupings. They simply identify the basic unit of social and personal responsibility as a house .

In the Caribbean, children are raised by various people, not just their biological parents. Genetic ties do not reign supreme.

What this tells me is that Western society infuses the mother with importance and meaning (again, to keep women at home and too distracted by their maternal duties to attempt to take power from men).

What this tells me is that children don’t need a mother in the way we think they do.

I am rationalizing. I know this.

To continue rationalizing:

There are women who leave their children.

In 1943, Doris Lessing left behind her three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter to pursue her writing career (and given the sheer volume of beautiful work she created, can’t one argue that she made a good decision?).

It’s said that she thought that only if her children didn’t have a mother could they really be themselves.

Perhaps that’s true, and/or perhaps that’s her own rationalization.

In her 1962 novel The Golden Notebook , the character of Anna (Lessing’s alter ego, one can assume) comments on her partner’s sense of entitlement to her time and attention and her inability to express her own needs. The only solution she can think of is resignation to her unhappiness.

I have no information on how her children fared without her. But I assume they fared.

Would Nicole be okay without me?

In the basic sense, she would. Rob is nothing but dutiful. He adores her. He will provide for her. He will likely meet another woman. He’s handsome and about to be making good money as a dentist. He is a decent man. I have made many mistakes, but choosing him was not one of them.

A couple of nights ago, I asked him, “What if something happened to me? Would you and Nicole be okay?”

He looked at me strangely, rightly so, and said, “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He put his hand on top of mine, rubbed it with his thumb. I had to look away so I wouldn’t cry.

“I’m worried about you,” he said.

I mustered all my strength to lie: “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Nicole is three. She will have no memories of me. That may be for the best. Rob’s new wife will be her mother, for all intents and purposes. Maybe she will do a better job than I have.

I will go. I will be free. I will become a doctor of philosophy. I will have a rich, full life. I will be happy. Or maybe I will go mad. I am a woman on the verge—of madness or bliss? I am willing to risk the madness for a chance at bliss.

When in doubt of my pursuit, I will think of something Germaine Greer said: The best thing I can do for my community and loved ones is to be happy.

Rob,

I’m leaving you this diary.

So you understand that it’s not your fault. Or Nicole’s.

This life is not for me. I wish it was.

I won’t return. Even if I have a change of heart, which I don’t expect I will, it would be unfair of me to impose myself on your life again.

It’s up to you what you tell Nicole.

I’m sorry for hurting you. And her. Though I trust you will protect her from the worst of the hurt.

I’m sorry for who I am, for who I need to be.

You are a good man. I do love you.

PS: I have left a tuna casserole in the fridge.