If I could rewrite my story, I would begin by erasing myself.
If I could go back in time, I’d tell my mom to take the pills, to make a choice for herself. I imagine a world where I don’t exist, where she’s not confined by motherhood but free to be just her. A woman untethered.

In this life, she finishes middle school, moves on to high school, graduates, and makes her parents proud. She goes to prom, her first taste of young love and heartbreak, with her hair and nails done, laughing with her friends.

Then, she goes to college, leaving behind the small pueblo she grew up in, wide-eyed at the dorms, the city lights, the freedom. She develops a coffee addiction, finds comfort in late-night cups, the smell wrapping around her like warmth. She listens to rock and hip-hop, joins a dance class, and maybe even becomes a dance instructor. She tries her hand at painting and drawing, her fingers smudged with charcoal and paint, each attempt bringing her closer to the art inside her. She sings loudly and proudly, filling the room with music, her voice unfiltered, joyful, a part of her that she never stifles.

In this life, she never meets my father. Instead, she finds a kind man who buys her flowers, listens to her stories, and plants gentle kisses on her forehead. She majors in culinary arts or Latin American studies, dives deep into her culture, shares what she learns with her parents and siblings, adding her own spices to family recipes.

She walks across the graduation stage, and later, down the aisle at a real wedding with bridesmaids, ring bearers, and joy unbridled. She has a career, not just a job. She becomes the boss, strong and self-sufficient, with enough money to live comfortably. She laughs more, dances without restraint, sings without a worry. She reminds me of a better version of me, the me I wish she could have been.

And I wouldn’t be there to see her bloom, but I’d be happy knowing she’d have all the things she’s never had. Because she deserves the late-night coffees, the paint-splattered fingers, the freedom to become someone whole and unbroken.