Motherless

47

Melody

I couldn't sit still.

The house was quiet too quiet except for the steady rhythm of my footsteps pacing across the rug. My mind wouldn't stop replaying Talia's face at the dinner table. The way her eyes dimmed when I told her no. The way she swallowed back tears she thought I didn't see.

I hated it.
I loathed that I was the reason they were there in the first place.

But I couldn't let her do it.
Not that. Not her.

A soft knock on my door pulled me out of my thoughts.

"It's open," I said, already knowing who it was.

Amanda peeked her head in, holding two mugs. "Before you yell at me, I come bearing peace offerings tea and moral support."

I sighed and sat on the edge of my bed. "I'm not yelling."

"Not yet," she teased, closing the door behind her. "But I saw that storm brewing at dinner."

I rubbed my temples. "Don't start, Amanda. I'm serious."

"I know you are," she said, setting one mug down beside me. "That's kind of the problem."

I looked up at her my little sister, all smiles and sass, her humor softening every sharp edge in life. But tonight, she wasn't joking.

"She's just a kid," Amanda said gently. "She wants answers."

"She doesn't need answers," I snapped. "She needs peace."

Amanda sighed. "Maybe she can't have peace without answers."

I stood up again, pacing. "You saw her back then. You saw the bruises. The way she used to flinch when I reached for her. I can't I can't risk putting her back in front of the woman who made her that way. Who let it happen."

Amanda watched me for a moment before speaking. "You know... when we were kids, I said the same thing about Mom and Dad."

That made me stop. "What?"

"Our real parents," she said quietly. "Remember when we were little, and Mom and Dad adopted us? You were twelve. I was nine. I used to ask about them, but you'd shut me down every time. 'Forget them,' you'd say. 'They didn't want us.'"

I stared at her, the air in my chest thinning.

"Then, when you turned eighteen," Amanda went on, "you went looking for them anyway. You said you needed to know why. You needed to see them with your own eyes."

I closed my eyes. I could still remember it the chipped paint on the house, the smell of cigarettes, the look in their eyes when I said who I was.

"They didn't even remember our birthdays," I whispered.

Amanda nodded, voice soft. "Yeah. And it broke you for a while. But then you came home. And you said something I'll never forget."

"What did I say?"

"You said, 'Now I know they can't hurt me anymore.'"

I sat back down slowly, that old ache pressing behind my ribs.

Amanda leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Maybe that's what Talia needs, Mel. Not forgiveness. Not closure. Just proof that her mother can't hurt her anymore."

I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. "You really think I should let her go?"

"I think she's gonna go whether you let her or not," Amanda said honestly. "Wouldn't you rather be the one holding her hand when she does?"