My mother was in the kitchen, standing by the stove, completely unaware of the storm inside me.
I stood in the doorway, my hands clenched into fists. My chest felt tight, my throat dry. My mother turned to face me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Is it true that you stopped my father from seeing me?” My voice was sharp.
“Alice!
You scared me!” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
I didn’t flinch. “So is it true?” I demanded.
She frowned. “Where did you get that idea?”
I took a deep breath.
My body was trembling. “He told me. He said you cheated on him, and that’s why he left.”
Her expression darkened.
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t know!” My voice broke. “That’s why I’m asking you!”
She turned away, stirring something on the stove. “Alice, it’s complicated.”
I stepped closer.
“So it’s true?!” I shouted.
She slammed the spoon down. “He left us! I didn’t want him in our lives!”
“He left you!
Not me! You pushed him away because of your mistake!”
Her face twisted with anger. “And I was right!”
“No,” I said, my voice shaking.
“You made me miserable.” I turned and walked out.
I texted Jeremy and asked him to pick me up. The seconds dragged as I waited, my body tense.
He was outside my mother’s house within ten minutes. I stepped out, feeling drained.
Jeremy leaned toward the passenger side, unlocking the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“I need you to take me to Peter,” I said, my tone firm.
Jeremy didn’t question it. He simply nodded and started the car. It seemed I was finally ready to talk.
I had spent my whole life hating men.
But as it turned out, that hatred had never been mine—it had been hers.
It had shaped my thoughts, my fears, my choices. Now, I had to learn how to build my own life and feel my own emotions. I had to understand who I really was without her anger guiding me.
Source: amomama
