This is the first time I’ve gathered the courage so that I can use the chance she’s given me.
“I haven’t always made the right choice, Mum.” My voice is so low, lower than the water boiling on the stove and the sound of stirring she makes.
She starts to turn around, and I blurt, “Please don’t look at me. I can’t say this if you’re looking at me.”
I’m too ashamed to meet her eyes.
“Okay,” she says in an affectionate tone and remains in place.
“Remember when you told me you had a bad feeling about Jonah? You were right, Mum.”
“Is this about how he recently got arrested for assault and drugs?”
“That was the end of it. The actual story started a long time ago.”
I don’t know how I find the courage to tell her everything that happened. I tell her about that night, the sleep paralysis—which is why I locked my room so no one could see me in that state—the fear of the opposite sex, relationships, and my lack of trust in everything.
The words flow naturally, without any effort, as if they’ve been waiting all this time for me to tell Mum the truth that’s been festering inside me for so long.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mum.” My voice is raw and brittle. “I was just so scared about those pictures becoming public and ruining your reputation. I was also terrified that you’d remind me that you’d never liked him and had encouraged me to leave him. It would’ve killed me if you’d blamed me for it or said I told you so.”
She starts to whirl around again.
“No, Mum, please. Don’t look at me when I’m like this.”
Her fingers are unsteady as she turns off the stove and faces me, eyes shining with tears, and her features as pale as I imagine mine are.
Then she comes to my side, slowly, with measured steps, and stops a few breaths away. Her chest rises and falls hard, as hard as mine, as if she can snatch my feelings and mold them into her own.
She wipes the tears sliding down my cheeks. “Why can’t I look at you like this? If the world refuses to see this version of you and the pain you went through, I will. All day. Every day.”
“You won’t say none of this would’ve happened if I’d listened to you?”
“No, because no one can be sure of what would’ve happened. He could’ve found other ways.” She strokes my cheek, my tears, and my anguish. “I want you to know and believe it wasn’t your fault, honey. None of it was.”
“But—”
“No buts, Cecily.” She’s crying, too, as much as I am, until tears stain her cheeks. “I was a victim, too, once, and the perpetrator was the one person who should’ve been protecting me.”
“Your mother?” I’ve only met her once, when she showed up at our door when I was seven, and I hated that woman at first sight. She’s a world-famous artist and had a haughty expression that rubbed me the wrong way.
She spoke to Mum as if she owned her. Papa and Uncle Kirian were there, and they kicked her out. Mum cried so much that night, and she told me that my estranged grandmother reminded her of her painful past.
Mum nods. “Yeah, so I know exactly what it means to be a victim, and if you push that energy inward, it’ll only lead to self-destruction, Cecy. You’re our little miracle, the one Xan and I had after a long journey of healing, and I know we can be very overprotective, but it’s only because we love you so much and don’t want you to go through what we did. So please don’t blame it on yourself. Take this as if I’m begging you. Blame it on us being horrible parents who didn’t see the signs.”
“No, Mum.” I jump up from my seat. “I didn’t let you see the signs. I dealt with them on my own because I thought the wound would eventually heal, but it only festered. This is not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either, Cecy.”
“I know.”
Hope blossoms between the tears like a newly planted flower. “You do?”
I nod. “It’s why I can talk about it now, you know. It took me a long time to come to terms with it, but I’ve met someone who convinced me not to deflect the blame inward. Ever since then, my own head doesn’t torture me as much and I’ve started to feel safe. I no longer have panic attacks and the instances of sleep paralysis have become few and far between.”
Mum’s hand falls from my cheek to my shoulder, and a warm smile peeks through. “Is that someone the American boy?”
I rub the side of my nose and nod. “His name is Jeremy.”