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“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “Pretty cold, sleeping with his best friend.” I try to joke, but it falls flat, leaving a sudden, uncomfortable silence between us.
She gives a half shrug, a shadow of a smile not reaching her eyes. “He was always cruel,” she says, her so quietly the sound is almost lost. “Even before he knew.”
Somewhere a stone fountain hums to life, the sound of falling water a fleeting distraction from the weight of our past. The walls around us seem to close in, steeped in the bitterness of a loveless marriage and childhood.
“I was just... trapped.” There’s something so vulnerable and raw in her tone, and for a moment, I see her—not as my mother, but as a woman who once longed for escape.
I feel for her, and myself. The man who raised me had stolen so much from us. Our time, my childhood, he’d robbed us of the close, loving relationship I think we both craved. And all for what? To selfishly make those around him pay for a mistake made over three decades ago?
I rub my hand on the back of my neck, unsure what to do or say now. I thought this would be hard, but not like this. Not with the weight of not knowing what words to say. “So, what now?”
Margret leans forward, her hands clasped as if in prayer. Her silken plum top shines in the light, and I realize once again that I’ve never seen her in anything but elegant clothing and style. Even her hair looks like it’s been done by a professional, all coiled up and beautiful. “What do you mean?”
A laugh, more than bitter, escapes me. “I married Lila,” I say, “before reading his letter, his will.”
Her breath catches, a sharp intake that whistles quietly through clenched teeth. “Oh.”
She doesn't seem to know what to say.I don’t either.
“Did you know?” I ask.
“Which part?” Her eyes fill with tears.
“What he was going to do?”
She shakes her head. “I didn't.”Her gaze lowers to the floor and her knuckles go white as she wrings her fingers. “I didn’t know until I received his letter the same day you did. Of course, mine was just a copy of what he sent you. He didn’t even have anything to say to me. He just wanted me to know and hurt even more.”
I study her—this woman who’s been both an engineer and casualty of our family's sorrows. “You deserved better,” I say, the words quiet in the space between us.
She shakes her head, a subtle denial of a truth she won’t accept. “I made my choices. And I paid for them.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice and a faraway look in her eyes when she continues speaking. “If I could go back... I’d do everything differently... except you. I’d still want you, but it would be you and me, and I’d shower you with all the love I wanted to show you, but couldn’t.” Twin tears slip down her cheeks.
“We can’t go back, but what we do with our future... that belongs to us,” I say, borrowing Lila’s sentiment like a lifeline.
Margret turns her attention to me, a slight smile creasing her face. “You’re right.”
“He’s gone,” I say, the finality of the words and thought liberating. “You’re free, Mom.”
Her smile widens, and I wonder what her plans for the future might hold. And that has me thinking about my own future - the one I’ve messed up - and the woman I love.
“Something’s bothering you,” she says.
I nod. “I messed things up with Lila, and I’m not sure how to fix it.” I spread my hands wide, as if to show her the scale of my mistakes. “I kept too many secrets. I did some bad things. I forced her to give me answers I wanted.” How am I different than the man who raised me? Maybe I learned more of his behaviors than I ever knew.
Margret's gaze searched my face. “You're not like him,” she says. “You can't think that way.”
“But I am,” I say, the words sharp as shards of glass as they leave my throat, scraping me raw. “I lied, Mom. I coerced her into choices she didn't want. Just like he did to you.”
“Stop.” She lifts a hand, cutting off the flow of my words after I’ve stopped.“Lila is strong, kind. She will understand. Give her time.”
I shake my head, doubting that time was what I needed to help repair things between her and me. My mother’s optimism seems alien, like a language I've forgotten how to speak.
“Just trust yourself,” she says, lifting and lowering her head as if silently telling me to take a deep breath and let it out. “And trust her. You both deserve it.”
I inhale deeply, the scent of jasmine, wood, and the lingering scent of cigars filling my lungs. It’s time to shift the weight of our conversation, to move away from the past.
“Mom,” I say, my voice steady as I speak, “the past... it's done. I forgive you. So, whatever you’re holding on to... it’s time to let it go.”The words hang in the air, delicate yet poignant.
Margret blinks, her eyes reflecting a relief that seems to smooth the creases around them and leaves her looking younger and happier all at once. “You do?”
