When I was twelve, after an argument with my mother, I made a dramatic declaration that I could no longer tolerate her autocratic ways. “I’m done. I’m leaving!” Without even looking up from her chores, she replied calmly,  “The door and the gate are open.” I marched out, convinced she would soon rush behind me with panic, persuasion, or perhaps even tears. Nothing happened. I peeped through the door. She was still busy. “I’m leaving!” I shouted again. “You’re still there?” she replied...