Your Muse

Cntn...

I couldn’t deny it—I missed her. I missed her so much that it made me furious. Furious at myself, at her, at the years that had stolen our time together. Maybe that’s why I sat there, paralyzed, my emotions waging a war inside me.

Dad and Mom had kept things cordial after the divorce, but what good did that do me? Their smiles in front of me were just masks covering the wreckage beneath. And I—I was left in the middle, a child craving a love that always seemed just out of reach.

And now, after all these years, she was standing in front of me.

The sight of her knocked the breath from my lungs.

Mom.

Her face—God, her face—was older now, the fine lines on her skin whispering tales of time I wasn’t a part of. But she was still beautiful. Too beautiful. It almost hurt to look at her, because she was a reminder of everything I had lost.

Her eyes—glistening, overflowing with emotion—locked onto mine, and for a second, I felt like that ten-year-old kid again. Small. Powerless. Wanting nothing more than to run into her arms, to feel the safety of her embrace.

But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

Her lips trembled, a breath catching in her throat. "My baby," she whispered, her voice breaking like fragile glass. "Look at you…"

I swallowed hard, my fists clenching at my sides. Damn it. Damn it! Why did her voice still have the power to make my heart cave in?

Memories crashed into me like a hurricane.

I saw my father—strong, proud, unshakable—crumbling before my eyes, his hands trembling as he held the divorce papers. I had never seen him cry before that day. And though I had loved him fiercely, I couldn't deny the truth—he hadn't been the husband she needed.

Maybe that’s why he tried so hard now. Why he was so present, so doting. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was both.

And now, here she was.

The mother I had longed for. The mother I had resented. The mother who left but never really did.

She took a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling. "Can I…" Her voice cracked, and my chest tightened. "Can I just hold you?"

A lump formed in my throat. My whole body screamed at me to move, to stay, to cry, to push her away.

I wasn’t a child anymore. I wasn’t that helpless girl watching her world fall apart.

But damn it, as her arms wrapped around me, as her scent—so familiar, so painfully familiar—filled my senses, I felt my walls begin to shatter.

And I let them.

Because maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something new.And in that moment, as I sank into her embrace, I realized—no matter how much time had passed, some love never faded.

Her arms wrapped around me, hesitant at first, but then desperate—like she was afraid that if she let go, I would disappear, slip through her fingers just like time had. I felt her breath trembling against my shoulder, shallow and uneven, as though she was struggling to hold herself together. She was shaking. She was breaking.

And then, in the smallest, most fragile voice, she whispered—

"I’m so sorry."

I stopped breathing.

The words cut through me like a jagged knife, sharp and merciless, slicing through every wall I had spent years building around my heart.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull away and look her in the eyes and ask her if she truly believed that two words—two words—could somehow erase the years of silence, the pain, the nights I had spent curled up in bed, wondering why my own mother didn’t love me enough to stay.