“So . . .” My voice sounds rough even to my ears. “This is awkward.”
I’m not even sure what to say. What do you tell your dead mother in a situation like this?
The truth, I guess. No reason to bullshit.
“I got married.”
The words feel weird as they leave my mouth.
I swallow, jaw tightening, and glance away.
This shouldn’t be so hard.
My eyes shut, and I can see the memory of her face.
She’s standing in front of me, arms crossed, watching me. Knowing full well I’m up to no good.
“I married Victoria.” My fingers curl into the grass, dirt pressing beneath my nails. I don’t look at the stone when I say that. I can’t. “I hated you for a long time . . . I didn’t understand how you could keep my family from me.” I take a deep breath. “And then you died. I never even got to speak to you before you did. I had only been gone a month . . . for a long time, I blamed them. Victoria. Her family. Then I blamed you.” I laugh once under my breath. It comes out broken.
“I blamed you for everything. For the loneliness. For the way I had to change. For her.”
I reach out and brush my finger against the base of the headstone. “That was before I knew the role you played. I know now. I’m not going to lie, what you did was wrong. You took away my choice.”
My throat tightens, pressure building there from all the words and emotions I’ve been holding back for too long.
“I don’t understand why you lied,” I whisper. “Why did you let me believe that letter was real? Why did you let me think she walked away from me like I meant nothing?”
My chest aches.
“Why didn’t you give me her letter?” My voice cracks on the word her. “The real one. The one she gave you. The one that would’ve saved us years of pain.”
I bow my head. “I want to hate you. I want to ask why. But I know the reason.”
I lift my gaze back to her name.
“You were trying to protect me,” I say quietly. “From my family. From the blood that would be spilled once I found out who I was. And you wanted to protect me from what you thought would ultimately be my undoing . . .her.”
My mouth twists. “You thought if she walked away, I’d be free. That I’d stop loving her.” I shake my head slowly. “You underestimated her.”
My eyes burn now, unshed tears gathering behind my lids.
“She taught me how to forgive,” I whisper. “I forgive you. Even though you don’t get to hear it. Even though it took me too long to say it . . .”
I scrub a hand over my face, catching a drop of wetness on my cheek.
“I still don’t like what you did,” I add hoarsely. “I don’t think I ever will. But I understand it.”
I push myself to my feet and stand over her grave. “I’m trying to be better for her. For the life we’re building. I want to become the man she deserves.”
The wind picks up again, and it feels cool against my skin.
“I hope wherever you are, you see that.”
I take one last look at her name, then step back.
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I pullup to the warehouse.
