Scars Beneath Silence

Chapter 21

I sat at the kitchen table, the familiar hum of morning filling the room. My mother was standing at the counter, her hands moving swiftly as she worked the dough for the bread. The quiet rhythm of her movements was soothing in a way I hadn't noticed before. Normally, I'd avoid sitting here, especially when the tension between us seemed to make the air thicker, but today felt different.

I watched her for a moment, noticing how she moved with such purpose, each action efficient, learned over years of doing the same thing every day. There was something calming about watching her, the way her hands shaped the dough, firm but careful. I leaned back slightly, feeling a weight I hadn't realized was there lift from my chest.

She looked over her shoulder, catching my eye. "You're up early," she said, her tone neutral, but not unkind.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied quietly, watching her continue her work. I could see the fine lines around her eyes, the quiet exhaustion etched into her features, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel the urge to argue or resist. Instead, I just wanted to be here with her.

Without thinking, I spoke. "Do you need any help?"

She turned fully to look at me this time, her eyes widening slightly with surprise. It had been weeks, maybe months, since I'd offered to help her in the kitchen. She didn't say anything for a moment, and I wondered if I'd made her uncomfortable, but then she nodded. "If you want to knead this dough for a bit, it would help."

I rose from the table and moved toward her, feeling a strange kind of peace as I reached out to take over the dough. As I pressed my hands into it, the soft flour coating my fingers, the usual tension between us seemed to dissolve.

"Thank you," she said softly, stepping aside as I took over her spot at the counter. "It's been a long time since we've done this together."

I nodded, but didn't reply immediately. We worked in silence for a few moments, and for the first time in a while, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was just... quiet. My hands worked the dough, pressing and folding it, and for a moment, the simple task felt like the only thing that mattered.

After a while, she broke the silence. "You've been distracted lately," she said gently, glancing over at me. "Is everything all right?"

I looked up at her, my hands still in the dough, feeling my throat tighten a little. "I've just been thinking a lot."

"About what?"

I paused, not sure how to explain. "About... you. About everything you've done for us. For me."

She blinked, clearly taken aback by my words. I wasn't used to speaking so openly with her, and neither was she. But something about this moment felt right, like the distance between us wasn't as wide as it had been.

"I know I haven't made things easy lately," I continued, my voice softer now. "And I've been angry... but I realize now that everything you've done has been because you care."

Her expression shifted, softening, though her eyes glistened with something I hadn't seen before. "Amanda..." She hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I've always wanted what's best for you. Everything I've ever done has been for you and your sisters. Even when it's hard."

I swallowed, feeling a lump form in my throat. I had spent so much time fighting her, resisting the path she wanted for me, that I hadn't stopped to think about how much she must have struggled too. "I see that now. I didn't before... but I understand now. You've only ever wanted the best for us."

She reached out, placing her hand over mine. Her touch was warm, steady, and the gesture was so simple, yet it felt like it carried years of unspoken words between us. "I just want you to be safe," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "To follow the path that's right for you."