My stomach tightened.
She went on, steady but detached, like she was reciting something she’d rehearsed in therapy.“The things I said.The things I did.I understand better now.I didn’t want to, but I do.And I’m not proud of it.”
The words landed like something heavy dropped on my chest.
I wanted to believe her.Part of me even did.But the memory of too many nights of shouted words, thrown items and bruises she never cared about was hard to erase just because her tone had changed.It didn’t undo the hours I’d spent locked in the music room, composing songs for her to sell.Or the mornings I’d had to hide marks with long sleeves before going to school and pretending everything was fine.
It didn’t erase the fake smiles she used in public—the ones that made people think she was kind, loving, and normal.When she’d paint me as the problem child and she was the angel who loved me still.
I stared at her, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat, burning with hatred and frustration and fear.
“Why are you telling me this?”I asked finally.
She looked up then, her dark eyes clearer than I’d ever seen them.“Because I can’t change it,” she said simply.She swallowed hard.“When I lost your little brother, I broke.Something inside of me completely snapped, and I’ve never been the same since.I wasn’t mother of the year even before then.I know that.But afterwards....”She blew out a small breath.“Well, it doesn’t matter.I can’t change it.What happened has already happened.And I don’t expect you to forgive me for it either.That’s a cruel expectation.But you deserve to hear it from me.Not a doctor or anyone else.From me.I know what I did and I know what I did was wrong.”
There was no gentleness in her voice.No pleading.Just an acknowledgement, raw and strangely hollow.
The silence that followed was almost unbearable.The air was heavy, like even the walls were holding their breath.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.
“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, her gaze flickering toward the window.“I just needed to say it.”
That was it.No hug.No apology shaped into comfort.Just an admission dropped between us like a stone, deep enough to ripple but not enough to heal.
For the first time, she seemed human.Not the monster I remembered, not the mother I needed, just a broken person staring at the wreckage she finally realized she made.
I didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
I stayed in the room a little longer after she turned toward the window, her focus already drifting away.These were how our visits had been until today.Silent, practically two strangers just taking up space in the same room.The silence pressed against me until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I’ll come again soon,” I said, even though I knew she wasn’t going to respond.She never did.
This time, she did give a faint nod, something she hadn’t done before.
I stepped out quickly, closing the door behind me, and started down the hall.The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, too bright, too white.My chest ached like I’d been holding my breath for hours.
Instead of heading for the exit, I followed the signs to the cafeteria.I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to sit somewhere that wasn’t her room.
The cafeteria was half-empty.A few nurses lingered at the back, talking over coffee.The smell of soup and something lemony filled the air.I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, paid for it and a small bag of chips, and sat at one of the tables near the massive floor to ceiling windows.
Rain had started outside, thin and silvery, sliding down the glass in crooked lines.I twisted the cap on the bottle and took a long drink.
Lindie said she wasn’t proud.She said she remembered.
But remembering wasn’t fixing.
And her acknowledgement didn’t erase the damage.
“Cadence?”a familiar voice called out, warm and patient.“You look like you’re thinking too hard.Dangerous habit for a teenager.”
I blinked, startled, and turned toward the sound.
Dr.George Stokes, Paxon’s dad, stood beside my table, a coffee in one hand and a stack of files under his arm.His dark grey hair was slightly tousled, and his tie looked like it had been knotted in the dark.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.Paxon’s eyes.I was looking at Paxon’s eyes when he’ll be older.“Mind if I sit or are you about to diagnose me for bad posture?”
Despite myself, I laughed.“You can sit.”
