(A/n:This turned out to be longer than intended. So divided it into two parts. The next chapter thus would not be an open letter, but the continuation of this chapter in third person).

When Saturday morning came, George was tired. She had stayed up most of the night by her mom’s side, looking out for any possible signs of discomfort that her mom might show. Fortunately, her mom had a peaceful night.

George had gone to bed somewhere close to dawn. Even then she could not sleep a wink, what with the events of the past night weighing heavily down on her mind. The guilt of her continued ignorance further added to the weight. The result was that she had tossed and turned on her bed for hours, until she finally had enough and got up.

As soon as she had brushed her teeth and taken a bath, she donned a simple shirt and jeans, and wrapped a cardigan around her neck. She packed her phone and wallet into her tote bag and hung it on her shoulder. Her dad was not expected for two more days, at the least. That ensured her mom got enough time to steady her bearings. 

She tiptoed to the guest room and found that her mom was still in deep sleep. Last night certainly took a toll on her as her well. As she stood next to her mom’s bed, George wondered how she did it: years of getting hurt, and then masking it, and then putting on a false mask that was difficult to see through.

Her whole life seems to be façade in a sense. In her dad’s case, the mask was in place as part of conscious deliberations. Not so for her mom though. She was always a genuine person, her heart and soul bared open to the world. Thus, here she was, exhausted in the aftermath of pulling off the mask for one night, only because she was done disguising her wound.

George pulled out an Advil from the drawer of the bedside table, and kept it near the bottle of water that was sitting on top of the table. After placing a soft kiss on her mom’s forehead, she headed out of the room and down to the kitchen. She placed her tote bag on the chair and moved to the island at the centre of the kitchen to cook a light breakfast for her mom. 

The clock was ticking away. As she tossed the omelette upside down on the pan, she went through a mental list of what she had to do for the weekend. She was punctual in doing her schoolwork, which meant that she had no pending assignments on weekends. She could not afford to have any. Trying to predict what turn her day would take is a foolhardy thing to do, as she had realised years before. It all depended on her dad's presence or absence in the house, and his mood for the day. And that was as steady as a barometer needle.

Still she had an English assignment to submit, the due date of which was the next friday. A writeup to be prepared on Rebecca. Despite being an avid reader, she did not have a copy of the book. 

Yes. That was what she was going to do that day. She wanted to stay in with her mom desperately, but was not sure how that would bode with her mom. Though the years had chipped away at her soul, her mom did try to hold onto the belief that nothing had changed permanently. She still was adamant enough not to acknowledge her drinking problem.

Thus if she stayed home, George was aware that she would be putting her mom on a spot. As much as she knew it was necessary, she also understood that it should be done when her mom was in a more healthy frame of mind. Or else, she might interpret George's persistence as arrows of accusations, and might fall down deep over the cliff of guilt.

Been there. Done that. Not again.

So George decided that she had to give her mom space. Instead of pushing her into a tight corner, she had to be there, with her. Something she had overlooked the last two times. But not this time. 

The errors of the past are meant to make you wiser, her grandpa used to say. Well then, it was time to put that advice to action.

Last night was a mistake, and she had to make sure her mom knew that she would not hold it over her head.

She covered the bread and omelette with another plate and set it on the table, along with a note informing her whereabouts and the time by which she will return. She also put the spare key alongside the note.

Satisfied with this arrangement, she picked up her bag from where it lay on the chair and made her way out, locking the door behind her.

…………………………………………………………………………………. 

The sun was glowing warmly by the time George made it to the doors of the library. She wished the climate would have been this nice on her school days as well.

The Public Library of Greenbury was a massive building, modelled on the Gothic architecture. Housing more than a million books, the library was always swarming with people - school kids, grad students, the bibliophiles and so on.

George loved being at the Library. For one, it was a place where she could be, without attracting any unwanted attention. She had no labels while at the Library-just, one among the many who flocked in and out, or pored over the pages. Secondly, she was fond of the table by the corner, where she could sit by herself and fantasize over the world in the words.

In short, the Public Library of Greenbury was her means of escape, regardless of how transient it may seem.

She entered the library and smiled as she saw Ms. Gates in the reception counter. Ms. Gates has been the librarian of Greenbury for so long that the town automatically connects her face with books. She was a sweet lady, with an equally cheery disposition, who could hardly be cross with anyone.  

Plus, she loved books.

"Hey, Ms. Gates!".

Ms. Gates looked up from the paperwork that she was engrossed in and beamed.

"Oh, hey George! Doing good, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Ms. Gates. Busy Saturday?"

Ms. Gates pulled in her lips with the edge of her teeth. It was a sure sign of her annoyance, as George had found out from their previous interactions.

"You have no idea," she had to stifle a smile at how Ms. Gates dragged the word idea. "Seriously. I didn't know that being a librarian was so much of hard work."

"Looking for a career change, then?"

Ms. Gates widened her eyes, simultaneously shaking her head fiercely.

"Nuh-uh, George, not for a million dollars! I love books. And this-", she waved her hands around to indicate the library, "this, is my personal heaven. A little paperwork can't deter me from it."

George smiled. She had expected nothing else.

"I have told you this before, Ms. G, you could always ask me."

Ms. Gates smiled.

"No can do, George", she said in a sing-song voice, "I signed up for the whole thing. I can't just choose to do the best part and leave the rest now, can I? 'S all right. Nothing I can't handle. Now off you go. The library's about to close. It's Saturday, remember?"

George did. Weekends were half days for the library. So with a final wave to Ms. Gates, she walked into the large hall that held shelves upon shelves stacked with books of different genres. 

As she walked between the book racks trying to find the title she wanted, her mind wandered back to what Ms. Gates had said before they parted. 

"I signed up for the whole thing... I can't just choose to do the best part and leave the rest now, can I?"

No she couldn't. Neither can George, even when she did not sign up for it on her own. She and her mom might have to brave more storms than sunshine, but that was how it was. She could not fight it, at least not now.

She had to give her time, as long as it might take.