Mine | Yours

Yours: Chapter 8

A/N:

I want to take some time to tell each and everyone of you that abuse is not okay. Be it sexual, physical, mental, emotional, financial, etc., no type of abuse is acceptable or should be tolerated because you deserve more than that. A lot of the times, people are afraid to speak up about the abuse that they've suffered because they're scared of the repercussions. So in this chapter, I really hope it makes you think of the toll it takes on one's mental health when they've been abused for so long.

If you, or someone you know, is being abused, please please please get help or help them to get out of that situation. If you guys ever need anything, I'm always available to talk.

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Scarlett's P.O.V

Why couldn't I have done something differently? It's all my fault.

As I watch my children play in the living room, a heavy weight settles upon my heart. Guilt courses through my veins like a relentless tide, engulfing me in waves of remorse and self-doubt. I can't help but feel responsible for the life I've subjected them to, a life that falls short of the dreams and opportunities they deserve. I'm a failure of a mother. How did I let this happen? I must be so stupid.

In their innocent eyes, I see the reflection of their unfulfilled potential, a reminder of the sacrifices they've unknowingly made. I had envisioned a life of abundance and endless possibilities for them, where their wings would soar effortlessly. Yet, reality has painted a different picture, one of limitations, danger and fear. What kind of mother can't get her children out of this kind of mess? If only I had been more careful, more attentive to the signs. This wouldn't have happened if I had just been more responsible.

It all weighs heavily on my conscience. I question whether I've failed them, whether I've stifled their growth and potential. The constant struggle with their father to provide the basic necessities, has left little room for the luxuries and experiences I yearn to offer them. I should have fought harder.

As I watch them, I can't help but wonder if they long for something more, something beyond the meager offerings before them. I see their eyes light up with excitement when they hear stories of other children's adventures, their hearts yearning for the experiences I can't provide. They must hate me. My mother was right, I am good for nothing.

In their laughter and boundless energy, I find solace and fleeting moments of respite from the guilt that plagues me. They don't know the extent of my inner turmoil, nor should they. They deserve a mother who can shield them from the weight of her regrets, who can instill in them a sense of hope and resilience. They deserve someone strong enough to protect them, noot someone riddled with worry who will have to keep them moving for the rest of their lives to keep them safe. Not someone who has to commit unspeakable acts in order to ensure their safety for a little while. What a disgrace to mothers I am. How could I be so blind? I should have seen the signs. It's my own incompetence that led to this mess.

I am determined to make the most of what we have, to imbue their lives with love and warmth amidst the scarcity. I strive to create a sanctuary within four stable walls, where their dreams can still take flight, even if they're not adorned with opulence and extravagance. But with the life I live, that will never be possible.

Yet, even in the depths of my guilt, I remind myself that my love for them knows no bounds. I may not be able to provide them with a life of abundance, but I can offer them my unwavering support, my guidance, and my unconditional love. I can teach them the value of perseverance and gratitude, hoping that these lessons will carry them through the challenges they may face. But is that enough?