I was 29 and very much in love. However, the man who had captured my heart was also breaking it.

I was not the only woman he was seeing, but wanted to be. When it came to making the choice I was not the one chosen.

Devastated I retreated to my apartment, but found that being alone, that alone, only hurt more. I called my mother but didn't tell her why. Just tried to make small talk. It has been years since I lived near my family, but we talk often. Mother asked what was wrong and I suddenly heard myself say in a quavering voice, "Mother, can I come home?"

All she said was "What time does the flight arrive?"

On the plane I tried not to cry. But my throat still felt tight.

As the plane landed I could see my mother in the waiting area. She is a very small woman, but she has a stern jaw that becomes determinedly set when the happiness or protection of her children is threatened.

I walked off the plane and toward her. She smilled and there were tears of sympathy and love in her eyes. As we enbraced my resolve not to cry crumbled. sWe stood there in each other's arms in that crowded waiting area, my crying and my mother tenderly stroking my hair. CAPTION: Illustrations 1 through 3, no caption, O. Soglow; Copyright (c) 1932, 1960 The New Yorker Magazine, Inc.