Born To Die

Mothers gift

That night, after the fight, I tried to disappear into the couch while Dad cooked dinner. My body was still sore from the scuffle, and my mind wouldn't stop replaying everything that had happened. I had dirt under my nails and a bruise forming on my knee. My stomach twisted with a mix of anger, shame, and... something else I couldn't name.

Dad called me to the table. "Dinner's ready, Isla," he said, his voice gentle, but I could feel the unspoken question in it. He knew something was wrong.

We sat down, and I stared at my plate, pushing the food around with my fork. Usually, we'd talk about our day—he'd ask me about school, and I'd pretend everything was fine. But not today. Today, everything felt heavier. The silence between us stretched, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"How was school?" he asked, his voice careful, like he already knew the answer.

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. "It was fine."

"Isla," he said softly, "I got a call from the principal today."

My heart sank. So he already knew about the fight. Of course he did. I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "I didn't start it," I muttered, knowing it sounded like an excuse.

"I know you didn't," Dad said. He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "But I also know something's been bothering you for a while now. You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

I felt my chest tighten. I didn't want to talk. Not about the kids, not about the fight, and definitely not about Mom. But when I looked at Dad—at the worry in his eyes, at the way he was waiting for me to let him in—I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I hate it there," I blurted out, my voice trembling. "I hate school. The kids—" I stopped, the words getting stuck in my throat. "They keep making fun of me. They call me 'motherless,' like I'm broken or something because no one ever sees my mom. They don't know about... her, and even if I told them, they wouldn't believe me."

Dad's face tightened, but he stayed quiet, letting me continue.

"And they make fun of me for not being able to read right. They laugh at how I have to go to the special room for help, and they say I'm dumb because I can't sit still." I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to cry. "Today, they kept asking where my mom is. They said she doesn't want me."

I saw the pain flash in Dad's eyes when I said that. "Isla," he whispered, reaching out to touch my hand, "that's not true."

"I don't even know if I believe she's real, Dad!" I snapped, yanking my hand away. "She's never here. She never answers. How am I supposed to believe that my mom is some goddess when she doesn't even care enough to show up?"

There it was, the truth that had been weighing me down for years. All the times I'd stood at that altar, waiting for a sign, a voice, something. But nothing ever happened. How could I believe in someone who didn't even seem to believe in me?

Dad sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked tired. "I know it's hard, Isla. I know it feels like she's not there, like she doesn't care. But gods... they work differently. Your mom—Aphrodite—she's not like us. She exists in ways we can't always see or understand."

"I don't want to understand," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just want a mom."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The weight of everything I'd said hung between us, heavy and raw.

Then Dad moved his chair closer and put his arm around me. "I know," he said quietly. "I wish I could make it easier for you. I wish I could give you all the answers, but some things... some things you're going to have to discover for yourself. But you're not alone, Isla. You have me. Always."