And then, when the storm of events finally seems to settle, the leaves begin to fall. Not just any leaves, but fragments of insight, silences filled with meaning, memories that return—no longer as raw wounds, but as invitations to reflect. Part 2 tells the story of how everything started to grow crooked—the side branch that broke, the crack in the heart of motherhood. But what broke also left something behind: the need to look back, to understand.
So now I take you with me through some of those leaves. Small reflections. Not lessons, not self-help, not a perfect ending—but thoughts from a mother who dares to pause in the middle of the mess. These are the moments where I met myself again: in a motherhood you can never truly be prepared for, in fear, in trauma, in laughter through tears. We add these leaves to Part 2 because they belong there—like autumn leaves on wet asphalt, like a breath between sentences, like comfort, perhaps—or at the very least: recognition. So grab a cup. Let’s turn the pages.
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