And then it’s done.
Relief like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life flows through me. Sheer and utter relief.
It’s like an immense boulder has been lifted from my shoulders. I can’t believe I allowed such a heavy weight to rest on my back all this time. I thought it was making me stronger, like a physical weight would do at the gym, but instead that mental weight was only bogging me down. Holding me back.
“I’m free now,” I whisper to Angela softly. “You’ve helped set me free. Thank you.”
Her eyes glisten with tears. “You’re so very welcome. So welcome.”
I grab her hand and hold it to my heart.
She sighs, grinning happily.
“What about your pain?” I ask. “You’re still holding onto it.”
The happiness leaves her features, replaced by caution. I almost feel bad for bringing this up, but it has to be done. For her.
“What pain?” she asks. “I have no pain.”
“What happened to your mother wasn’t your fault,” I say simply.
I glimpse the hurt, the terrible hurt in her eyes, but then it’s gone instantly, her defensive barriers going up so fast I’m reminded of a porcupine raising its quills. She withdraws her hand from me.
“I’m okay,” she lies. “Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not,” I tell her simply.
She stares at me, continuing to wear her poker face. “I am okay, I am.” Finally she cracks and her eyes well with tears. “I have no pain.”
I gently comb the hair out of her face so that the tears can flow freely. I rest my hand in her grasp once more and she squeezes it tightly.
She blinks away the tears and finally lowers her defenses. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks. “How did… how did you know I blame myself?”
I hold her sad gaze. “I can see the obvious guilt in your eyes whenever you mention her. Plus, when you played that song… the one you said your mother used to play. Moonlight Sonata. I could sense the sadness in your playing. And the anger. Your rage wasn’t just about what happened to her, but also seemed directed at yourself.”
She nods and forces a smile. “You can be very perceptive when you want to be.”
I ignore the comment and repeat more forcefully: “What happened to your mother wasn’t your fault.”
26
Angela
Igaze into Massimo’s eyes. My Massimo. Yes, that’s who he is to me now. He’s mine, and I’m his. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It might even be true, at least for tonight.
Massimo’s words echo in my head.What happened to your mother wasn’t your fault.
He knew, all this time.
He knew I blamed myself.
But what he doesn’t understand is that it reallywasmy fault.
I realize I haven’t even told him what happened to her. I’ve hinted at it, I suppose, but never revealed it outright. I suppose he deserves to know. He shared what happened to his brother, after all. That’s something I think he’s never told anyone outside of his family. But he shared it with me.
I close my eyes and visualize that terrible day all over again. Then I speak.
“The Saturday she died, I woke up early. It was a typical Saturday. I was eager to finish breakfast so that my father could bring me to my weekly piano lesson. I liked showing off to my teacher how well I’d learned the last week’s songs.
