Mother snaps the kettle's lid open and shut. "That's all in the past," she eventually says, switching on the kettle.
"Still, I'd like to know," I say, sliding my fingers under my thighs to stop them from fidgeting. The bench's fur cushion feels so soft.
She turns to face me, leaning against the rustic kitchen counter with her arms crossed. Her scrutinizing gaze meets mine. "Since when do you dye your hair?"
No. This isn't right. "Please don't try to change the subject," I respond, surprising even myself.
This has never happened in our family, especially not from me. Maybe none of us has ever told the truth. Not the surface truth, but the one buried deep in the muck. Where it's always dark.
"So…" I hold her gaze steady. The kettle's hiss mixes with the crackling of the fire. "Why did you get divorced?"
Her shoulders sag slightly. "Because of you."
A sharp pain pierces my chest, stealing my breath.
It's true, then. Knowing it definitively feels like a part of me is dying.
Why the hell did I let Kjell talk me into this? Him and his damned truth—what good is it for?
"Okay," I force out and stand.
That's it. I don't need to hear any more truths. I've heard enough.
Enough to realize once again that I'm a terrible person. Enough to know that Kjell was wrong. And enough to feel that this wound will never heal.
Trembling all over, I stumble toward the door.
"Wait," I suddenly hear my mother say before I place my hand on the doorknob. "That's not all."
But I don't want to know more. "I shouldn't have come," I reply, still facing the door.
"You wanted the truth, didn't you?" There's weight in Mother's tone.
I turn to face her, catching a hint of despair in her face. A dose of guilt. And more concern than I've ever seen before.
Do I want this?
Do I really want to hear the truth?
The kettle's click breaks the silence of this moment as we stand wordlessly across from each other.
"Okay," I say, driven by the hope of finding the peace Kjell so fervently fights for.
She gestures for me to sit again, fills two cups with the steaming water, and brings an assortment of tea to me. Silently, she slides my cup across the table. I choose green tea; she goes for rosehip. Some things never change.
"So?" I let the tea bag sink into the steaming water, watching as delicate green swirls form in the clear liquid.
She clears her throat. "The reason was indeed you, but not in the way you might think," she replies with a hoarse voice. "Youwere not the problem;Iwas. And it had been that way your entire life."
Surprised, I raise my eyes and see Mother wistfully turn up the corners of her mouth.
"I don't know how to explain it, Sky." She shrugs.
"Only the truth matters," I reply, and even just by saying that, I feel a bit stronger, though I have no idea where she's going with this.
She clasps her cup with both hands. "To me, you were an absolute blessing. When I finally became pregnant after countless attempts, I could hardly believe my luck."
What? "I ruined your modeling career." More than once, I've heard her complain to Father about it. I remember it vividly. I didn't make that up.
