Chương 7
The truth of it made me angry.
Then it made me quiet.
Because I knew she was right.
I left her apartment that night without saying much.
Not because I was offended.
Because for once, I had no argument.
The next morning, I went back to my mother's house.
She was in the kitchen making breakfast.
She looked relieved when she saw me.
That bothered me.
"Why are you relieved?"
She froze.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
I put the hospital paperwork on the counter.
Her face changed.
"What is that?"
"Something Samantha paid alone for years."
My mother looked away.
"I didn't know."
"You knew she was pregnant."
"That doesn't mean I knew everything."
"No."
I nodded.
"But you knew enough to keep me away."
She sat down.
For the first time since this began, she did not defend herself.
"I was afraid."
I stared at her.
"Of what?"
She looked at the table.
"That you would make the same mistake twice."
The answer shocked me.
"What mistake?"
"Choosing a woman because you felt guilty."
I was silent.
My mother rubbed her hands together.
"I thought if you went back to Samantha because of the baby, you would resent her."
I looked at her.
"And you thought it was better if I resented you?"
Tears filled her eyes.
"I thought I was protecting you."
I shook my head.
"No."
My voice was quiet.
"You were protecting yourself."
She looked up.
I continued.
"You didn't want to see me hurt."
She nodded slowly.
"And because you couldn't handle my pain, you chose yours instead."
She did not argue.
That was when I realized something.
My mother had not been a villain in my story.
She had been a scared person who made a terrible choice.
And somehow, that made forgiving her harder.
Because anger was easier when someone was only wrong.
Because anger was easier when someone was only wrong.
I drove back to Samantha's apartment that evening without calling first.
For a few seconds after I knocked, I wondered if I had made another mistake by arriving without warning.
The door opened.
Samantha looked surprised.
"Ethan?"
"I need to talk."
She studied my face.
Not the words.
The face.
Then she stepped aside.
"Come in."
The children were already asleep.
I could tell because the apartment had that quiet feeling it only gets when parents finally have a few minutes without someone calling their name.
Samantha sat on the couch.
I stayed standing.
"I talked to my mother."
She nodded slowly.
"How did that go?"
"Badly."
A small, tired smile appeared.
"That sounds familiar."
I almost smiled too.
Almost.
"I was angry."
"You had a reason."
"But I think I was angry because it was easier than admitting something else."
Samantha waited.
I sat down.
"I keep looking for someone to blame."
She looked away.
"Most people do."
"But the truth is, I left."
The room became quiet.
"I left because I was hurt."
She nodded.
"And I thought leaving meant I was choosing myself."
I rubbed my hands together.
"But I never stopped to think about what I was leaving behind."
Samantha looked at me.
For a moment, there was something in her expression that looked almost like sadness for the person I used to be.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
Just recognition.
"I was angry at you for a long time," she said.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Her voice was calm.
"You know I was angry."
She looked toward the hallway.
"You don't know what it felt like."
I listened.
"When I found out I was pregnant, I spent two days sitting on the bathroom floor because I couldn't decide if I should be happy or terrified."
She swallowed.
"I had wanted a family with you."
Her fingers touched the edge of the cushion.
"But not like that."
I looked down.
"I didn't want you to come back because you felt trapped."
"I wouldn't have."
She looked at me.
"Wouldn't you?"
The question hurt because I had no proof.
Five years ago, I had been capable of running.
"I don't know."
Samantha nodded.
"That's why I didn't know what to do."
She looked toward the hallway again.
"When they were born, I remember holding Noah and Lily and thinking that I loved them so much it scared me."
Her voice became softer.
"Then I looked around the hospital room and realized the person I expected to be there wasn't coming."
I closed my eyes.
"I am sorry."
She looked at me.
"I know."
The answer surprised me.
"You know?"
"Yes."
"Then why doesn't it feel like enough?"
"Because it isn't."
She did not say it cruelly.
She said it like a fact.
"Sorry matters."
She paused.
"But it doesn't replace time."
The next morning, I woke up early and went to buy breakfast.
I had no idea what the children liked.
I stood in the grocery store aisle staring at cereal boxes like they contained important answers.
A woman nearby was arguing with her husband about whether they needed more paper towels.
A teenager was texting while pushing a cart.
An employee was restocking shelves and quietly singing to himself.
Life was happening everywhere.
Nobody knew mine had changed.
I bought too much food.
When I arrived, Samantha opened the door and looked at the bags.
"What did you do?"
"I bought breakfast."
"For six people?"
I looked inside the bags.
"I may have miscalculated."
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Then she covered it quickly.
"I forgot you always did that."
"Did what?"
"Prepared for disasters that never happened."
I smiled faintly.
"I like being prepared."
"You bought four different kinds of pancakes."
"I didn't know what they liked."
The smile disappeared from her face.
Not because she was upset.
Because she understood what I was trying to say.
You don't know what they like.
That was the quiet truth between us.
Noah came running into the room.
"Is that breakfast?"
May you like
"Yes."
He looked into the bags.
