“It isn’t.”
That answer landed hard, and my mother didn’t rush to soften it.
“Love isn’t enough by itself,” she said. “People say it is because it sounds pretty and because pretty things make grief easier to sell. Love does not rebuild trust without work. Love does not erase damage. Love does not turn cruel words into harmless ones. But love can be the reason you choose the work when walking away would be easier.”
My throat tightened.
“She told me she loved me.”
My mother’s breath caught softly. “And you believe her?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you love her?”
My mouth twisted. “You know I do.”
“I know many things. I still like hearing my son tell the truth.”
I dragged my good hand through my hair. “I love her. I hate her. I want her close. I want her gone. I want to forgive her. I want her to hurt as much as I did. I want to protect her from everything, including me, and I want to shake her until she understands what she did to me.”
My mother didn’t flinch from any of it.
She never had.
“That sounds honest,” she said.
“It sounds ugly.”
“Most honest things do before they’re cleaned up.”
I let out a breath that scraped against my ribs. “I don’t want to be cruel to her anymore.”
“Then stop.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“I didn’t say it was easy. I said stop.” Her voice sharpened just enough to sound like the woman who had raised me through grief, bills, and every fight I had ever tried to have with myself. “You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to need time. You are allowed to tell her she hurt you and that you do notknow how to hand trust back yet. You are not allowed to keep punishing her because pain makes you feel in control.”
I closed my eyes.
That one went through bone.
“She punished first,” I said, hating how small it sounded.
“And you punished back.”
I swallowed.
“Now somebody has to decide the punishment phase is over,” she said. “If the two of you are done, be done with mercy. If you are not done, stop treating love like a courtroom where someone has to be found guilty before anyone can leave.”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my eye. “I told her I didn’t have forgiveness.”
“Maybe you didn’t in that moment.”
“I still don’t know if I do.”
“That’s okay.”
