Chapter 5: The First Time She Called Me Her Son

The days after the reservoir accident were strange.

Nothing in the house had physically changed. The same white walls surrounded us, the same dining table stood in the kitchen, and the same old clock ticked above the living-room door.

Yet somehow, everything felt different.

Mom stopped yelling at me.

At first, I thought it was temporary. Maybe she was simply exhausted after what happened to Casper.

So I kept my distance.

I ate quickly, washed my own dishes, and returned to my room before anyone could speak to me.

But Mom didn't let things remain that way.

One morning, I came downstairs and found a plate of eggs and toast waiting at my usual seat.

I stared at it.

"That's yours," Mom said from the kitchen.

I looked behind me, wondering if she was talking to someone else.

"I know," she added quietly. "You always skip breakfast when no one reminds you."

I didn't know how she knew.

For twelve years, she had acted as if she didn't even notice whether I ate.

I sat down slowly.

The toast was slightly burnt.

I took a bite anyway.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Mom didn't answer.

But I saw her turn away quickly and wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

I lowered my head.

I didn't know what to do with kindness.

It frightened me more than anger ever had.

Anger was simple. I understood anger.

Kindness made me wonder whether I had been wrong about everything.

And I wasn't ready to let go of all the anger I had carried for so long.

That afternoon, I came home from school to find Granny sitting in the living room.

She waved me over.

"Come sit with me."

I sat beside her.

She studied my face for a long time before sighing.

"Your mother wants to talk to you."

My stomach tightened.

"About what?"

"About the past."

I immediately stood up.

"I don't want to."

Granny caught my wrist.

"You don't have to forgive her today. You don't even have to forgive her tomorrow. But you deserve to hear the truth from her."

I looked toward the hallway.

Mom was standing there.

Her hands were trembling.

She looked nothing like the woman who had once terrified me.

She looked like someone who had finally run out of places to hide.

"Come with me," she whispered.

I followed her into the kitchen.

For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then Mom placed a small wooden box on the table.

"This belonged to your father," she said.

My body went rigid.

"I don't want anything from him."

"You don't have to," she said. "I kept it because I thought one day you might want to know who he was."

She opened the box.

Inside were a few old photographs, some documents, and a hospital bracelet that had faded with time.

I didn't touch any of them.

"He hurt me," Mom said. "But you were never responsible for what he did."

My throat tightened.

"Then why did you treat me like I was?"

Mom closed her eyes.

"Because every time I looked at you, I remembered him. I was young, angry, and afraid. I thought if I hated you enough, I could hate him less."

I stared at her.

"Did it work?"

She shook her head.

"No."

Her voice cracked.

"It only made me hurt the one person who had never done anything to me."

I looked down at the wooden table.

A thousand things I had wanted to say crowded into my head.

Why didn't you protect me?

Why did you love Casper more?

Why did you let me believe I was a monster?

Why did you make me think dying was the only way to make you happy?

But the words refused to come out.

Mom seemed to understand.

"You can hate me," she whispered. "I won't stop you anymore."

I looked up.

"I don't hate you."

She froze.

I swallowed hard.

"I used to. I hated you every day. But then I found out why you hated me, and I started hating myself instead."

Mom's face went white.

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"No." She shook her head fiercely. "It isn't."

She came around the table and knelt in front of me.

"What happened to you was never your fault. Not when you were born. Not when you grew up. Not when you fought back. Not when you were angry. None of it made you a bad child."

My eyes burned.

"But I did bad things."

"You were hurt," she said. "That doesn't excuse everything, but it explains why you were fighting so hard."

I couldn't hold myself together anymore.

The tears came suddenly.

I covered my face, embarrassed by how helpless I felt.

Mom didn't touch me immediately.

She waited.

Then she asked softly, "Can I hug you?"

I froze.

No one had ever asked me that.

After a long silence, I nodded.

Mom wrapped her arms around me.

The hug was awkward.

Her shoulders were trembling, and mine were shaking even harder.

I didn't suddenly feel healed.

I didn't forget everything.

But for the first time, being held by my mother didn't feel like a punishment.

It felt like someone was finally trying to bring me home.

When we separated, Mom wiped her tears.

"I can't change the years I lost with you," she said. "But if you'll let me, I want to spend the years I have left making things different."

I stared at her.

"What if I can't trust you?"

"Then I'll earn your trust slowly."

"What if I get angry?"

"I'll listen."

"What if I don't forgive you?"

Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Then I'll still love you."

My heart gave a painful twist.

I looked away before she could see how much those words affected me.

That evening, Casper knocked on my bedroom door.

He entered carrying a small drawing.

It was terrible.

There were four people standing beneath a crooked yellow sun, with a tiny figure beside them.

"That's you," Casper explained proudly.

"Why am I so small?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"Because you're standing far away."

I stared at the drawing.

Then he added, "But you don't have to stand far away anymore."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

It was probably the first genuine smile I'd had in years.

Casper grinned when he saw it.

"You smiled!"

"Don't make it weird."

"I'm telling Mom!"

"Casper!"

He ran out laughing.

A moment later, I heard his voice echo down the hallway.

"Mom! Connor smiled!"

Mom laughed downstairs.

I stood in my doorway and listened.

For once, the sound of my family didn't make me want to disappear.

It made me want to stay.

Later that night, I placed the lucky charm I had bought for Janet on my desk.

I had thought it would be the last gift I ever gave anyone.

Now, I wondered if I could give it to her properly someday.

I lay down and stared at the ceiling.

I still had scars.

I still had memories that hurt.

I still didn't know what the future would look like.

But for the first time, tomorrow didn't feel like something I needed to escape.

It felt like something I could face.