The Past Within - Mialotte - TNN

The first memory

TW: This book will contain serious topics such as divorce, self-harm, suicide, fatphobia, bullying and child abuse.

Based on a true story

This chapter talks about divorce

Charlotte walked into the cosy, softly lit office, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was warm and inviting, with plush chairs and a few potted plants, but it did little to ease her anxiety. This was her first time in therapy, and she wasn't sure what to expect. She had been carrying the weight of her troubled childhood for so long that the idea of finally talking about it felt both terrifying and necessary.

The therapist, a gentle-looking woman with kind eyes, greeted her with a reassuring smile. "Charlotte, it's nice to meet you. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Charlotte sat down, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I've never done this before," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

"That's okay," the therapist replied calmly. "We'll go at your pace. You're here because you've been through a lot, and this is a space where you can talk about whatever you feel ready to share."

For a moment, Charlotte didn't know where to begin. The memories of her childhood and the pain of her divorce swirled in her mind, a chaotic mix of emotions. She hesitated, feeling a lump form in her throat.

"It's been hard," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't even know where to start. There's just so much... pain."

The therapist nodded empathetically. "We can start wherever you feel comfortable. Remember, this is your time, and it's okay to take it slow."

Charlotte felt a tear slip down her cheek as she nodded. This was the first step in a long journey, and though she was scared, she knew she needed to face her past to find peace

As Charlotte sat in the therapist's office, she hesitated before sharing her first memory from childhood. It was a memory she had tried to bury, but it had always lingered just beneath the surface.

"I remember coming home from my grandparents' house," Charlotte began, her voice trembling. "My sister and I had spent the day there, and we were excited to be back home. But when we walked through the door, everything changed."

Charlotte's voice trembled as she delved deeper into the memory that had haunted her for so long. The therapist's warm, empathetic gaze encouraged her to continue, to let out the emotions she had kept bottled up for years.

"I was only seven," Charlotte began again, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was a sunny day, one of those rare times when everything seemed perfect. We were laughing, talking about silly things like the cookies Grandma had baked, and how Grandpa had let us play in the garden all afternoon."

She paused, the weight of the memory pressing down on her. "But as soon as we walked through the front door, the atmosphere shifted. The house felt... different. I didn't know why at the time, but there was this heavy silence like the air itself was thick with something I couldn't understand. Then I saw him—our father—standing there, packing his bags."

Charlotte's eyes glazed over as she was pulled back into that moment. "He barely glanced at us, like we were invisible. I didn't understand why he was leaving. He had always been so strong, so dependable, and suddenly he was just... gone. And then I saw my mother, crumpled on the floor, crying so hard that she couldn't even speak. I had never seen her like that before. It was terrifying."

The therapist listened intently, giving Charlotte the space she needed to continue. "What did you do next?" she gently prompted.

"I just froze," Charlotte admitted, her voice trembling. "I was too young to grasp what was happening, but I could feel that everything was falling apart. Steph, though... she was different. She was fourteen, and I think she understood more than I did. She knelt down beside me and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close. She whispered in my ear, telling me that it was going to be okay, that we were going to be fine. But even at that age, I could tell she was lying—to me, and maybe to herself too."