𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

── .✦ 19

After reconnecting with her mother, Y/n felt a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying begin to lift. The fragile bond they'd patched together was a bittersweet reminder of what had been lost, but also a glimmer of what could still be salvaged.

As they sat side by side on her bed, her mother spoke about the road ahead. It wasn't going to be easy. She admitted as much, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "There are still days I catch myself craving it," her mother confessed softly, eyes lingering on her hands clasped in her lap. "The alcohol, the cigarettes... they call to me. But I don't want to be that woman anymore. Not for you. Not for me."

Y/n stayed quiet, her throat tight.

Her mother went on to explain the setup she had found—a free support group that specialized in rehabilitation. Run by a mix of seasoned professionals and young interns passionate about helping others, the group operated on a moral mission rather than profit. Her mother's sudden disappearance hadn't been abandonment; it had been her first step toward healing.

"I need to stay there a little longer," her mother said gently, sensing Y/n's reluctance. "I need to learn how to control my emotions, to make sure I don't slip back into old habits."

Y/n's chest tightened. Her mother was leaving again. And though the reasoning was different this time—better this time—it didn't make it any less painful.

"But it's not forever," her mother quickly added, reaching out to squeeze Y/n's hand. "I promise you that. This time, I'm doing this for us. For a better future."

Her mother's eyes shone with determination, but Y/n could see the faint tremor in her smile, the way her fingers curled tightly around Y/n's as if afraid to let go.

"I'll send money every month," her mother continued, her tone softening. "The group has connections with scholarships and financial aid programs. They've even agreed to help cover some of our expenses after I showed them your report cards. They were so impressed, Y/n." Her voice swelled with pride, and for a moment, Y/n felt like a little girl again, basking in her mother's rare but radiant approval.

Y/n tried to hold onto the positives. Her mom had found good people. People who believed in second chances. But the thought of another separation, another empty space in the house, gnawed at her.

Her mother seemed to sense her hesitation. "I know," she said quietly. "It's hard. And I don't blame you for feeling this way. But... I need you to trust me on this, Y/n. This time, it's different."

Y/n nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.

By the time their conversation wound down, the sky outside had darkened, the stars faint against the city lights. Her mother insisted on hearing about all the good things in Y/n's life—her accomplishments at school, her friends, the things that made her laugh. Y/n hesitated at first, unsure of how much to share, but her mother's gentle prodding eventually drew her out.

They talked late into the night, their laughter mingling with the occasional tears. For the first time in years, Y/n felt seen—not as a burden or an afterthought, but as someone her mother genuinely cared for.

When the time came to part, it felt like ripping open a wound that had just started to heal. Her mother hugged her tightly at the door, whispering, "I'll be back before you know it. And when I am, I'll be the mom you deserve."

Y/n clung to her, willing herself not to cry again. "Just... don't take too long, okay?"

Her mother laughed softly, though her voice broke at the end. "I won't."

And with that, she was gone.

Y/n stood at the door long after it had closed, the echo of her mother's presence lingering in the stillness. It hurt to say goodbye, but for the first time, it felt like a step toward something better—something worth holding onto and she was really looking forward to this new change.