We’d both been drowning in our own ways, too proud or scared to reach out for help.
“We all make mistakes,” I said softly. “But we can’t let them define us.”
Marilyn turned to me, her carefully constructed facade completely shattered.
“I’ve been so hard on you. I didn’t want to face my mess, so I focused on yours. I’m sorry.” Her voice caught.
“The twins… they’re beautiful, and you’re doing an amazing job. I’ve been terrible, haven’t I?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded. “Let’s move forward.
Together.”
As if on cue, both twins started fussing. Without thinking, Marilyn peeled off her remaining glove and reached for Emma.
Her hands were perfectly manicured, with that small heart tattoo telling its own story of human imperfection. For the first time since the twins were born, I felt like we could be a real family.
Later that night, after Marilyn had gone home and the twins were asleep, Danny found me in the nursery.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen Mom cry since Dad died.”
I leaned against him, watching our daughters sleep.
“Sometimes we need to fall apart before we can come back together stronger.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I felt something shift between us — a new understanding, perhaps, or just the recognition that perfection isn’t nearly as important as connection.
The next morning, when I found Marilyn’s discarded latex gloves in our trash, I smiled. Some messes, it turns out, are worth making.
Source: amomama
