Anger would have been easier.
Instead, I felt like someone had taken my entire childhood and turned it upside down.
Every memory had a second meaning.
Every conversation had another possible explanation.
My mother helping me choose my wedding dress.
My mother telling me Garrett was “a good man.”
My mother insisting marriage required patience.
Was she protecting him?
Or was she protecting me in the only way she knew?
I hated that I did not know.
The next morning, I asked to see her.
Priya tried to stop me.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised me.
“But I need answers.”
My mother arrived thirty minutes later.
She looked exhausted.
For the first time in years, she looked older than me.
She sat beside the bed.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered:
“You know.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
