I lay in bed, cocooned in darkness, my eyes fixed on the wall as if it holds all the answers to the questions that have plagued me for years. It’s a cold and unforgiving space, just like the void that’s taken up residence within my chest.
Seven years. Seven long, agonizing years of heartache and pain. Seven years of believing the worst about the man I loved, the man who had once been my everything.
The revelation had come crashing down on me like a tidal wave, sweeping away the fragile remnants of my trust and leaving nothing but shattered fragments in its wake. Noah hadn’t cheated on me; he’d sacrificed his own happiness to ensure mine. He’d faked infidelity to push me to leave Thatcher’s Bay, to pursue my dreams at Dartmouth. He’d thought it was what was best for me.
But the best intentions had paved the road to hell. The truth had left me drowning in a sea of regret and despair, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d lost something irreplaceable.
Nights spent alone, the darkness as my only confidant, had become all too familiar. I’d told Noah about some of the fun memories from college, but there were a million more that had been laced with sorrow. Where I’d chosen to spend my time alone in my room, mourning lost love rather than living. I’d been hurt, and I’d hurt others in return…all because of my heartache. Each tear that slipped down my cheeks was a testament to the hearts I’d inadvertently broken along the way, all because of Noah’s lie. Regret weighed on me like a heavy shroud, and I couldn’t help but dwell on the choices I’d made, the words left unspoken, and the pain I’d caused. Friends and men who had seen something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. Their love had been genuine, their affection unwavering, but I’d pushed them all away, convinced that I was doing them a favor because of the scars that Noah’s lie had left behind.
All this time I’d believed that I was doing the right thing, protecting myself from the anguish of heartbreak that Noah’s deceit had led me to anticipate. I’d held back, built walls around my heart, and refused to let anyone get too close. I told myself that it was self-preservation, that I was shielding myself from the inevitable pain that came with love.
But the truth was, I’d become a prisoner of my own fear, a captive to the past that haunted me.
Because of this lie, this all encompassing lie, I’d been my own worst enemy, sabotaging my chances at happiness because of the misguided belief that I was protecting myself.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I feel the bed dip beside me. My breath catches, and I turn to see Noah’s familiar silhouette in the dim light. He moves closer, his arms enveloping me in a warm, reassuring embrace. His scent, so achingly familiar yet foreign after all these years, wraps around me like a lifeline.
‘Sky,’ he murmurs, his voice a soothing whisper against my ear. ‘I’m so sorry.’
His words are like a dagger to my heart. Sorry can’t undo the past, can’t mend the shattered pieces of my trust, can’t erase the years of pain and loneliness.
I turn to face him, my eyes meeting his in the dim light. ‘Seven years, Noah,’ I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. ‘Seven years we could have had together.’
He doesn’t offer excuses or explanations, only a heartfelt apology that hangs heavy in the air. He knows as well as I do, that no words could make amends for what has been lost.
Noah pulls me closer, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my back as if trying to ease the pain etched into my soul. ‘I’ll wait,’ he says, his voice filled with unwavering determination. ‘However long it takes, Sky. I’ll wait for you to forgive me.’
His words are a balm to my wounded heart, but forgiveness feels like an impossible mountain to climb. How can I possibly forgive him for the years of heartache and longing, for the memories that have been stolen from us?
Tears continue to well up in my eyes, and I let them fall unchecked, the salty droplets mingling with the whispered promises we share in the darkness.
The weight of the truth presses down on me, each revelation carving a deeper chasm of despair in my heart. Noah just holds me, his arms an anchor in the turbulent sea of emotions that threatens to drown me. His presence offers solace, but it can’t erase the years of pain and questions that have festered in my soul.
‘Sky,’ he whispers again, his breath warm against my skin, ‘I never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe that. I thought I was doing what was best.’
His words are like a knife twisting in my chest. Believing him is a battle, one that is waged against the ghosts of my past, the scars that run deep, and the agony of knowing how much we’ve lost. How much I’ve lost.
I pull away from him, needing space to breathe, to think, to process the torrent of emotions that rages within me. My gaze meets his, and in his eyes, I see regret, remorse, and an unyielding love that hasn’t wavered, despite the years of separation.
‘Believing you is not the issue,’ I tell him, my voice trembling with pent-up anger and sorrow. ‘It’s what believing you entails.’
Noah’s face contorts in pain, as if my words are a physical blow to his heart. He reaches out to touch my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that has escaped my eye. ‘I know,’ he says, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I know what it means, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.’
The room feels too small, too suffocating, so I rise from the bed, needing space to think. To breathe. I pad over to the window and stare out at the night, the stars glittering in the sky like distant memories.
‘Seven years, Noah,’ I murmur, my voice barely audible. ‘Seven years of thinking you’d betrayed me. Seven years of wondering why. Why would you hurt me like that?’
Noah stands up and approaches me cautiously, as if I’m a wounded animal ready to bolt at any moment. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence is a comforting weight at my side.
‘I thought it was the only way,’ he admits, his voice raw with the truth. ‘I thought if you believed I’d cheated on you, it would be easier for you to leave Thatcher’s Bay, to chase your dreams. I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed.’
His words pierce my heart like a jagged knife, and I turn to face him, the pain and confusion etched into my features. ‘You should have let me make that choice, Noah,’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘You should have trusted me enough to make it with you.’
His gaze bores into mine, a mix of sorrow and longing. ‘I know that now,’ he says, his voice heavy with regret.
The room is heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of what could have been. Forgiveness feels too distant in the horizon, one that might never come into full view. But for now, there is something else that needs to be said.
‘Noah,’ I begin, my voice shaky, ‘I can’t just forget the past seven years. The heartache, the loneliness, the memories we’ll never get back.’
He nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘I understand, Sky. I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight. But I want to make things right. I want a chance to build a future together, even if it means starting from scratch.’
My heart aches at his words, the desire for a fresh start warring with the scars of the past. ‘I need time,’ I explain, my voice barely above a whisper. ‘I need time to heal, to figure out if I can ever trust you again.’
Noah steps in closer, his fingers grazing my cheek, his touch gentle and filled with longing. ‘I’ll wait,’ he promises again, like he has been over and over again since the truth came out. His voice is a solemn vow. ‘I’ll wait as long as it takes, Sky. Just know that I love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.’
The tears flow freely now, mingling with the unspoken pain and the flicker of hope that dares to ignite within me. As I gaze into Noah’s eyes, I see the love and remorse that mirrors my own emotions.
As the night stretches on, Noah holds me close, knowing that the road to healing will be a long and treacherous one. But in this moment, with his arms wrapped around me and his heartbeat echoing in my ears, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, there might be a sliver of a chance that we can find our way back to each other.
Healing comes in phases, it seems. And tonight, healing has come in the form of getting shit-faced drunk at this bar.
The bar is a dimly lit haven tucked away in a quiet corner of the town. The soft murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses create a soothing backdrop when I enter, needing to seek some kind of solace in the warm embrace of anonymity. I settle onto a vacant stool at the worn wooden bar, its surface etched with years of tales untold, and beckon to the bartender.
She appears, her eyes curious yet welcoming, as she places a coaster before me and leans in to listen to my order. ‘What can I get you?’ she asks, her voice carrying a hint of familiarity, as though she could tell I was a newcomer.
‘Just a whiskey,’ I reply, the words slipping from my lips as easily as the tears that had threatened to spill earlier.
The bartender pours the amber liquid into a glass, and I watch as it swirls, the refracted light dancing through it like memories long past. She slides the drink toward me, her eyes assessing, and says, ‘I haven’t seen you around here before. New in town?’
“Not really,” I murmur, not bothering to explain. I had never frequented the bars in my time in Thatcher’s Bay due to being underage…and a shy little mouse. So I would be new in this place. And I like that.
I take a sip of the whiskey. And then another. It burns as it goes down, a welcome distraction from the ache that seems to have become a permanent fixture within my chest.
I signal to the bartender for another drink, my voice barely above a whisper as I order another round. She nods in understanding, her experienced eyes catching the glint of sorrow in mine. She pours a generous amount of amber liquid into a glass, sliding it toward me with a sympathetic smile.
As the evening wears on, the world around me starts to blur, the edges of my vision softening by the alcohol coursing through my veins. The room sways gently, and I can’t help but lose myself in the comforting numbness it brings.
A stranger sidles up to me, his intentions clear in his eyes as he leans in a little too close for comfort. His words slur together as he tries to strike up a conversation.
‘Hey there, beautiful,’ he mumbles, his alcohol-laden breath washing over me.
I squint at him. He looks like he’s in his late thirties, his disheveled hair slicked back in an attempt to appear more put together than he actually is. His unbuttoned shirt reveals a glimpse of a faded tattoo on his chest, and his scruffy beard is peppered with gray hairs. The dim lighting masks the wear and tear on his face, but his eyes bear the weight of years of regret.
As he leans in, there is a moment—a fleeting, desperate thought. A thought that maybe I could drown my sorrows in the arms of a stranger, if only for a night. It’s a tempting escape from the chaos that has become my life, an opportunity to momentarily forget the pain that has gripped my heart for far too long.
But as quickly as the thought emerges, I push it away. I can’t do it. I can’t lose myself in someone else when I’m still hopelessly obsessed with another man. It’s a mistake I’ve been making for seven years.
And it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.
The stranger’s hopeful eyes meet mine, but I can see the emptiness hidden beneath his desire. I shake my head and turn away, choosing to face the relentless loneliness rather than trade it for something even more hollow.
I turn to face him, my gaze unfocused but firm. ‘Go away. I’m taken. By an asshole,’ I spit, my words tinged with bitterness.
The stranger seems taken aback, his confidence momentarily shaken. He hesitates before shuffling away, leaving me to my thoughts and my ever-persistent solitude.
‘You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,’ the bartender observes, coming to stand in front of me. Her gaze is steady and compassionate.
I can’t help myself. The words spill forth, unburdening the weight I’ve carried for far too long. ‘It’s because of him, you know. The love of my life.’
Her brows furrow slightly, as though sensing the turmoil in my voice. ‘Tell me about it,’ she encourages.
I down the rest of my drink in one go, feeling the warmth and the truth surge within me. ‘He pushed me away,’ I say, my words slurred by the alcohol and the emotions that threaten to choke me. ‘Said it was for my own good, so I could go to school and be fucking happy, whatever that is.’
The bartender nods, her expression sympathetic, and refills my glass. ‘Sounds like he cared about you a lot.’
I scoff, bitterness seeping into my words. ‘I hate him,’ I declare, my voice trembling with anger and pain. ‘He let me go, let me live out my dream, but I would have stayed. I would’ve done anything for him.’
She leans in closer, her eyes unwavering as they meet mine. ‘Seems to me he might have gotten the raw end of the deal. You’re out there in the big world…he’s left home pining over you,’ she suggests softly. ‘Sometimes, people make sacrifices because they believe it’s the right thing to do, even if it tears them apart inside.’
I shake my head, the tears I’d held back for too long now escaping, tracing salty trails down my cheeks. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I whisper, the words choked by the sobs that wrack my body. ‘I can’t go back. It’s too late.’
The bartender reaches across the bar and places a gentle hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort. ‘It’s never too late,’ she says, her voice tender. ‘Life has a funny way of bringing people back together when the time is right.’
She goes to help another patron, leaving me with her words dancing around in my head.
As the minutes tick by, I continue to nurse my whiskey, the amber liquid providing a temporary escape from the torment of my thoughts. The bartender comes back and is currently trying to cajole me into drinking some water.
I’m having none of it though.
‘Why’d he do it?’ I slur, my words heavy with frustration. ‘Why did he let me go?’
She leans in closer, her voice gentle. ‘Sometimes, people make choices they believe are for the best, even if it hurts them in the process.’
My head spins with a mixture of alcohol and emotion, and I slam my glass down onto the bar. ‘But it wasn’t his choice to make!’ I protest, my voice rising. ‘He had no right to decide what was best for me.’
The bartender sighs, as if she’d heard this story a hundred times before. ‘Love can be messy,’ she admits. ‘Sometimes, people do things they think will protect the ones they care about, even if it means sacrificing their own happiness.’
I shake my head vehemently, the tears returning with a vengeance. ‘I didn’t want his sacrifice,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘I wanted him.’
She reaches for the bottle of whiskey and pours me another drink, her movements slow and deliberate. ‘You loved him that much, huh?’ she asks softly.
I nod, my throat constricting with the overwhelming weight of my emotions. ‘More than anything.’
The bartender sighs again, and for a moment, there is a look of sadness in her eyes. ‘You know, sometimes it’s easier to hate someone than to admit you still love them,’ she tells me, her words a painful reminder of the turmoil within me.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, my vision blurred by the tears that refuse to stop. ‘I wish I could hate him,’ I whisper. ‘It would make all of this so much easier.’
She rests a hand on my shoulder, her touch a comforting anchor in the sea of despair. ‘You don’t have to have all the answers right now,’ she tells me. ‘Just take it one day at a time.’
But I can’t help but feel like I’m drowning in a sea of regret and heartache, the weight of my past mistakes and lost love pressing down on me with every passing second. The bartender’s words are a lifeline, but I’m not sure I have the strength to hold on.
As the night wears on, I continue to drink, each sip of whiskey fueling my inner turmoil. I ramble on, my words a tangled mess of love and pain, longing and despair. The bartender listens patiently, offering me small words of comfort and understanding.
‘Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other someday,’ she says, her voice filled with a quiet hope that I can barely hear over the cacophony of my own thoughts.
I continue to drown myself in whiskey. Each sip burns like liquid fire, searing away the pain and regret that has taken root in my heart. I don’t notice the time passing, lost in the haze of alcohol and misery.
But then, a voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. ‘Time to go home, little stalker.’
I blink, my vision clearing just enough to see Noah standing beside me. His presence is like a shock to my system, and for a moment, I can’t find my words.
Noah’s eyes are filled with concern as he looks down at me. ‘Come on, Sky. Let’s get you home, baby.’
I can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes my lips. ‘Why?’ I slur, my words heavy with the weight of my pain. ‘It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at home.’
Noah’s expression softens, and he reaches out to gently cup my cheek. ‘I’m your home, Sky,’ he says softly. ‘And I always will be.’
Tears well up in my eyes as I look up at him, the pain in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. ‘You shouldn’t be,’ I whisper. ‘You should hate me.’
He shakes his head, his thumb brushing away a tear that has spilled onto my cheek. ‘I could never hate you, Sky. That would be like hating the best part of my heart.’
I lean into his touch, unable to resist the comfort and familiarity of his presence. ‘You’re so pretty,’ I mumble, my words barely coherent.
Noah chuckles, a warm and affectionate sound that sends a shiver down my spine. ‘And you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met,’ he replies.
The bartender, who has been watching our exchange with a knowing smile, speaks up. ‘You take care of her, you hear me?’ she says, her tone firm but kind. ‘She’s had a rough night.’
Noah nods, his gaze never leaving mine. ‘Always,’ he replies.
With his help, I manage to stand, though my legs feel like jelly. Noah flings my arm over his shoulder, supporting me as we make our way out of the bar.
The night air is cool against my flushed cheeks as I step out onto the sidewalk, my steps unsteady as I make my way through the darkened streets.
As we walk, I can’t help but ramble on, the alcohol loosening my tongue and inhibitions.
‘You know,’ I start, my words coming out in a jumble, ‘I really did love you. Probably since the very moment we met.’
There is a voice inside my head telling me I need to shut up, but I’m far too drunk to listen to any sense at the moment.
Noah chuckles again, his laughter a soothing balm to my wounded soul. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘And I’ve been in love with you just as long.’
I blink up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. ‘Really?’
He smiles down at me, his eyes warm and full of affection. ‘Really.’
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I can’t help the tears that spill over. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ I whisper.
Noah’s grip on me tightens, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head. ‘I’ve missed you too, Sky. More than you could ever know.’
I stop suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, my stomach churning, bile rising up.
“Oh shit,” I groan as I lean over and throw up all over the concrete, narrowly missing Noah’s shoes.
I’m a mess when I get done retching up whiskey, tears and snot on my face.
And then, to make it even better, I start sobbing.
“Baby,” he whispers, sweeping me into his arms, not seeming to care that I’m a gross, pathetic mess.
I sob into his chest, letting him put me in the car and drive me home, and not objecting at all when he takes me up to my room and tucks me into bed.
“It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise I’ll make our life so good that it will make up for all of it,” I think I hear him whisper.
But I’m slipping into a deep, chaotic sleep.
So I can’t be too sure.
I wake up feeling like I might die.
Sunlight streams in through the curtains, casting a harsh, unforgiving light on my throbbing head. A relentless drumbeat of pain pulses behind my temples, and my stomach roils with nausea.
With a groan, I push myself up from the tangled sheets, feeling disoriented and heavy. The room spins briefly as I try to regain my bearings. The memories of the previous night flood back, an embarrassing reel of slurred words and blurry faces. I’d drowned my sorrows in a sea of alcohol, seeking solace in the bottom of one glass after another.
Regret washes over me, a bitter tide that leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth. I’ve been drowning my sorrows in more ways than one, and I know it’s a futile attempt to escape the painful truths that have resurfaced in my life.
Glancing over, I see a glass of water and some Advil sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, a thoughtful gesture from Noah. I take a few sips and down the Advil, hoping it can give me some quick relief.
As I stumble out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, the sight of my reflection in the mirror is far from comforting. My eyes are bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them betraying my restless night. My hair is a tangled mess, and my skin looks pale and drawn.
The cold water from the tap is a shock to my system as I splash it on my face, hoping to chase away the remnants of the alcohol-induced haze. It’s a vain attempt to clear my mind, to erase the haunting memories of my drunken confessions and reckless decisions.
With a sigh, I dress in comfortable yet disheveled attire, not bothering with makeup or any semblance of effort. The day stretches ahead of me like an endless expanse of uncertainty, and I’m not sure how to face it. The throbbing in my head has transformed into a relentless drumbeat, pounding out a rhythm of regret and self-recrimination.
Stepping into the kitchen, I debate whether coffee or more water will be the more effective remedy for my hangover. In the end, I settle for a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will reinvigorate my wilted body. The simple act of sipping the hot liquid feels like a small step toward recovery, a feeble attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.
I can’t help but reflect on the choices I made the night before. It was a desperate act, a futile attempt to escape the pain that resurfaced from finding out the truth. But as the harsh morning light illuminates the consequences of my actions, I know that I can’t drown my sorrows or erase the past.
Unfortunately, I have to face the fact that the path to healing will be a long and arduous one. I have to confront my past, my fears, and the unresolved emotions that have haunted me for years. There’s no easy way out, no shortcut to absolution. It’s a journey I have to undertake, step by painful step.
I open up the front door, bringing my mug with me as I step outside into the morning air hung heavy with a sense of unease. I sit on the porch, sipping my coffee in the early morning light. I’d always been an early riser after nights when I drank too much—a weird thing wired into my DNA.
The rhythmic sound of crickets fills the silence, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
Curt, my stepfather, emerges from the house, his footsteps barely audible on the wooden porch. He settles into a chair across from me, his own steaming cup of coffee in hand. Neither of us speak, content to share the quiet companionship that has grown between us over the years.
But eventually, the unspoken weight in the air becomes too heavy to bear, and I break the silence. ‘Curt,’ I begin hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper, ‘did you know?’
He looks at me, his eyes reflecting the somberness of the morning. ‘No,’ he replies softly, his gaze distant. ‘Noah told me the gist of it last night when he brought you home, but I have to admit I had my suspicions. You see, I not only love my wife very much, but I know her heart. There had been something off about her when you left for college all those years ago. And when I saw how frightened and guilt-stricken she was every time she picked up the phone to call you, I knew that there was a story behind there somewhere.’
I lower my gaze to my coffee cup, my fingers tracing the rim as I absorb his words.
‘I have to be frank, though,’ Curt continues, his tone laced with regret. ‘I never knew that Noah was at the center of it. Or that you two were in love. I feel like a fool for not seeing the signs earlier.’
Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away. It wasn’t Curt’s fault; he had only known what he had been allowed to see. The depths of my feelings for Noah had been a secret I had guarded fiercely, even from those closest to me.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. ‘I kept it hidden from everyone, even myself sometimes.’
Curt reaches across the small table between us, his hand gently covering mine. His touch is warm and reassuring, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that had been buried beneath the surface for too long.
‘We all have our secrets,’ he says softly, his eyes meeting mine. ‘But sometimes, it’s the sharing of those secrets that helps us heal.’
I nod, my throat tight with emotion. For years, I had carried the weight of my past. But now, sitting on the porch with Curt, I realize that maybe it’s time to start sharing those secrets, to confront the pain and loss that has shaped my life.
Tears well up in my eyes as Curt’s words wash over me like a soothing balm. Gratitude swells in my heart, a deep well of emotion that I can barely contain. I reach across the table and squeeze his hand, my voice trembling with sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. ‘Thank you for being there for me all these years, even when I pushed everyone away.’
Curt offers me a warm smile, his eyes filled with understanding and affection. ‘It was my privilege, Skylar,’ he replies, his voice gentle yet resolute. ‘To be your father, to watch you grow into the remarkable woman you’ve become—it’s been an honor.’
I can’t hold back the tears any longer, and they spill down my cheeks as I nod in response. I had been blessed with a stepfather who had stood by me through thick and thin, who had loved me unconditionally, even when I couldn’t love myself.
‘I want you to know,’ Curt continues, his grip on my hand firm and reassuring, ‘that I will always be here for you, no matter what happens with Noah. You don’t have to face this journey alone.’
His words are a lifeline, a promise that I would never have to navigate the turbulent waters of my past alone. I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him in a heartfelt embrace, seeking solace in his presence.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper once more, my voice barely above a breath. ‘For everything.’
Curt holds me close, his embrace a symbol of unwavering support and love. In that moment, I realized that no matter what lay ahead, I had a family that would anchor me. Which is more than I would have said before I returned to Thatcher’s Bay.
I guess I was healing in more ways than one from my time on the island.
The next day, I’m outside, the sun bathing the garden around me in a warm, golden glow, casting dappled shadows among the vibrant blooms that adorned the carefully manicured beds. My mother had developed a new love for gardening in the years I’d been away, and that love had transformed the backyard into a breathtaking oasis of color and life. Roses climbed trellises, their petals a riot of reds and pinks. Delicate lilies swayed gracefully in the breeze, their pure white blossoms standing out against the lush greenery. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the gentle hum of bees provided a soothing backdrop to the tranquil scene.
I sit on a weathered wooden bench beneath the shade of a sprawling wisteria vine, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wood. My mind was a tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions, and I sought solace in the beauty of my mother’s garden.
As I contemplate the events of the past seven years, my mother emerges from the house, a tray of freshly brewed tea in her hands. She approaches me with a tentative smile, her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and regret. Setting the tray down on a nearby table, she gestures to the empty spot beside me on the bench.
‘May I join you, Skylar?’ she asks softly.
I nod, and she settles onto the bench beside me. Pouring tea into two cups, she hands one to me, and we sit in silence for a moment, sipping the fragrant brew.
The warmth of the tea spreads through me, chasing away the chill of the past, and I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the simple, comforting moments I had shared with my mother when I was a child.
Eventually, my mother breaks the silence with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her voice tinged with sadness.
I turn to look at her, my eyes searching her face for sincerity. ‘For what, Mother?’
Her expression is pained, and she seems to choose her words carefully, fearing my reaction to anything she has to say. ‘For the way I handled things with Noah. For convincing him that you leaving Thatcher’s Bay to follow your dreams was the right thing to do.’
I feel a lump form in my throat, and I turn my gaze back to the garden. ‘How could you do it, Mom?’ I whisper, my voice barely audible. ‘How could you make him believe that I was better off without him?’
She reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. ‘I thought I was protecting you, Skylar. I thought I was doing what was best for you and your future.’
I pull away from her touch, unable to mask the bitterness in my voice. ‘And what about what I wanted? What about what Noah and I had? Did that mean nothing to you?’
Tears well up in my mother’s eyes, as she looks down at her hands, which are folded in her lap. ‘I didn’t understand then, Skylar. I was so afraid that if you stayed here, you would end up throwing your future away. I didn’t want you to make such a mistake.’
I turn to face her, my anger and hurt boiling over. ‘You don’t get it. You don’t get any of it. Noah was my future. He was my happiness. And you took that away from me.’
She reaches out to wipe away a tear that had escaped down my cheek.
‘I know that now, Skylar. In fact, I’ve known since that poor boy sent you away. I watched his misery for these last few years, and I prayed that you weren’t suffering as much as he was. That my meddling to ensure you achieved all your dreams, didn’t end up hurting you, more than it did protect you. But each time I talked to you on the phone, and I heard your voice, it broke something inside me. Because I could hear your sorrow, your grief, even when you were telling me life was wonderful. I knew then and there what a huge mistake I had made. I realize how much you loved him, and I’m so sorry for what I did.’
I shake my head, unable to hold back the tears any longer. ‘Sorry isn’t going to give me those seven years back.’
My mother wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a warm and comforting embrace. ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she whispers. ‘I wish I could change the past, but all I can do now is be here for you and support you in whatever way you need.’
The tea grows cold, but neither of us cares. We just stay there, in that peaceful garden, lost in our own thoughts. My mother’s apology had been a long time coming, but it’s the necessary step I need towards healing the fractured pieces of our relationship.
Finally, I find the courage to speak, my voice tremulous. ‘I missed him, Mom. Every single day, I missed him.’
My mother nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘I know you did, Skylar. And I’m so sorry for the pain I caused you.’
The garden seems to come alive around us as we sit there, bathed in the soft, fading light of the setting sun. My mother’s hand remains firmly wrapped around mine, a silent promise of support and understanding. I can’t deny that her apology has stirred something within me, sparking a glimmer of hope that had long been buried beneath layers of pain and resentment.
As I gaze at the riot of colors and shapes that surrounds us, I can’t help but be amazed at the transformation my mother has achieved. Each flower, each blade of grass, seems to be bursting with life, thriving under her tender care. It was a stark contrast to the barrenness that had settled in my heart over the years, a stark reminder of the love I had lost.
‘You’ve done an incredible job with the garden, Mom,’ I finally admit, my voice tinged with genuine admiration.
She turns to me, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Skylar. It’s been my way of finding solace and beauty in the midst of…life.’
I nod in understanding, realizing that my mother needed an outlet for her own grief and regret. It was something we had both been grappling with in our own ways, and perhaps, this garden was her attempt to make amends as well.
The air is filled with the gentle sounds of nature—the chirping of birds, the distant hum of insects, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. It’s as if the world itself is trying to comfort us, to remind us that healing is possible, even in the face of heartache.
I look at my mother, her eyes watering, and I can’t help but feel a sense of empathy. I wasn’t the only one who lost something precious. She had lost something too—me. She had lost the chance to have me as a part of her life, to watch me grow and change. Her actions had been driven by fear, by the desperate need to protect her child, and in doing so, she had unwittingly caused us both immense pain.
‘I know you were just trying to protect me,’ I say softly, breaking the silence between us. ‘But I wish you could have trusted me to make my own decisions, even if they meant making mistakes.’
My mother’s grip on my hand tightens, and she nods, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I should have, Skylar. I should have had more faith in your judgment.’
The sun has dropped even lower on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretch across the garden. The world seems to slow down around us, as if it were offering us a moment of respite from the chaos of our lives.
‘I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, Mom,’ I admit, my voice raw with honesty. ‘But I want to try. I want to find a way to move forward.’
My mother’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but there is a glimmer of hope in them too. ‘That’s all I could ever ask for, Skylar.’
We sit there, in that tranquil garden, bathed in the fading light of day, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of peace beginning to take root within me. The wounds of the past will take time to heal, but maybe, just maybe, forgiveness is possible.
As the sky deepens into shades of purple and blue, I allow myself to believe that this garden, with its vibrant blooms and lush greenery, is a symbol of the new beginning that lays ahead of us. And in that moment, surrounded by the beauty my mother had created, I allow myself to hope that I could find my way back to love and happiness once more.
