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༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 I had with my parents still lingered in the air as I lay on my bed, tears soaking into the fabric of my pillow. The stifled sobs escaping from my chest echoing in the silence of my room. Mixed feelings passed through my heart as my thoughts went back to the revelations that I finally confessed out loud.
I couldn't help but notice the immediate mass that left my shoulders, the relief of finally confessing the years of unspoken truth that rotted deep inside of me. Nonetheless, my free shoulders were tied back by the tyranny of my bittersweet anger that soiled my every thoughts.
In the midst of my emotional turmoil, the door creaked open, and my mother entered.
She took in the sight of my tear-streaked face, a painful reflection of the strained relationship we found ourselves entangled in. Without a word, she sat down beside me, her presence a tentative bridge between us.
Her eyes, carried a mix of regret and sadness with glisten of tears in the corners as they tried to meet mine. However, I obstinately continued to hide the sadness that mine mirrored.
After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice trembling with genuine emotion. "Elora, I—I can't deny the truth in your words. We've been absent, too focused on our duties and in the needs of others, forgetting about our own children. I should have known how it felt for you and your brother, I should have guessed as your mother . . ."
The sincerity in her voice and the tears that welled up in her eyes momentarily melted my anger away leaving on her path a trail of shameful remords.
"I regret not being there for you, not knowing your favorite color or the things that matter to you. I'm sorry, my sweet girl, and I know my words won't change the wounds that we caused you." She continued, carefully caressing the hair on my head pushing me to lean on the familiar yet foreign touch.
Her apology hung in the air, a fragile admission of fault. As I, at last, decided to look at her, searching her teary eyes for any sign of genuine remorse. "You should have been here for us." I whispered, the vulnerability in my voice bared for the first time.
She nodded, tears now streaming down her cheeks, a gesture of acceptance. "We'll try to change, Ophelia. I hope it's not too late for that. Your father and I will make an effort to be more present, to bridge the gap we've allowed to grow between us."
As her tearful words sank in, I felt a mix of emotions — pain, hope, and a tentative belief that change might be possible. The room, once filled with the echoes of conflict, now became a space where the fragile bonds of understanding and reconciliation began to form.
