UNENDING

41- A start

-AL-QASIM-

I sat there, my hands gripping the arms of the chair, as my parents sat across from me. The room felt too small, like it was closing in on us. My mother spoke first, her voice trembling as she tried to navigate the difficult conversation she'd clearly been avoiding for years.

"I don't know where to start or how to even begin this conversation after all these years," she said. Her eyes were red, and she seemed as though she was reliving the pain with every word. "It feels like a lifetime ago, but then again, the guilt never lets me forget. I was just a kid when I had you—seventeen, barely able to care for myself, let alone a baby. I didn't know what I was doing. I was terrified, and I let that fear consume me."

Her confession was like a punch to the gut, one that knocked the wind out of me. I tried to focus on her words, but my mind was racing. All the times I had needed her, all the moments where I had felt abandoned, came rushing back. I'd been so sure she didn't care, so sure that her neglect was a reflection of who I was. Now, hearing her admit that she had been overwhelmed and scared, it felt like the ground was shifting beneath me.

Instead of facing it and growing into the role of a mother, she continued, "I took the coward's way out. I pushed you away. You were this constant reminder of everything I wasn't ready for, and instead of loving you, I resented you. I told myself I was too young, that I had my whole life ahead of me, and I acted like it—like you weren't my responsibility."

Her words sliced through the years of anger and hurt I had built up. I had always felt like I was a burden, like my very existence was a chain around her neck. Hearing her admit that her actions were more about her own inadequacies than anything I did or was, was both a revelation and a further blow.

"I didn't raise you the way you deserved. I wasn't there for you, not the way a mother should be. I was selfish, wrapped up in my own world, trying to keep up with people who didn't really matter. But when I needed you to be presentable, to make me look good in front of my friends, that's when I cared. I'm so ashamed of that now."

She choked on the last words, her face crumpling into a mask of regret. I could see that she had spent countless nights reflecting on her failures, but hearing her say it aloud was overwhelming. I tried to process it, to find a space in my heart where her apology could settle, but it felt like my chest was too tight to allow anything in.

"You were a child, and I used you like a prop to fit into a life I thought I needed to impress people I thought were important. I didn't stop to think about how it made you feel, how you must've seen right through me, how lonely and unwanted I made you feel."

The image of my younger self, standing alone while she socialized, came flooding back. It was a memory I had buried deep, one that was now resurfacing with a vengeance. Her words echoed what I had always felt—that I was nothing more than a tool for her to project an image of success.

"And then, when you grew up, when you found someone who truly loved you, I interfered in the worst ways. I said things to her that I'll never be able to take back. I'm not even sure why I did it. Maybe I was afraid of losing you completely. Or maybe it was that same old selfishness creeping back in, thinking I knew what was best for you when I had never even given you what you needed."

I could see the turmoil in her eyes, the regret etched into her face. It was painful, this revelation of her insecurities and mistakes. I wanted to scream, to ask why she had done it, but the words stuck in my throat. The damage had been done, and no amount of explanation could undo the hurt.

"I hurt her, and I hurt you, and I wish I could undo it all. I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it. But I want you to know that I see the damage I've caused. I see the pain I put you through. And I am so deeply sorry. I failed you. I failed as your mother, and I know that now. I'm sorry it took me this long to admit it, to face it, but I see it now. And I regret it all, more than words could ever express."