The celebration dragged on long after the choir stopped singing. Coonie smiled where he had to, shook hands when they reached out, and endured the suffocating warmth of strangers congratulating him as if they'd known him forever.
By the time he and his mother finally returned home, his face hurt from forcing expressions he didn't feel.
The moment his bedroom door clicked shut, the mask fell.
Coonie collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as the muffled echoes of his mother humming downstairs filled the air. She was happy, happier than he'd seen her in years. And that made his chest ache in ways he couldn't untangle.
(She thinks this is salvation. She thinks this cult saved her life. After Dad died, she was broken… and now she's just broken in a different way. How do I fight something that makes her smile again?)
He turned to his side, burying his face into the pillow, his fists trembling against the sheets.
