CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 27: THE CONFESSION
A week later, my mother asked me to take a walk.
The weather was cold.
Leaves covered the ground.
We sat on a park bench.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
"I need to tell you something before it's too late."
I looked at her.
"When you were eighteen, you wanted to study art."
I blinked.
I hadn't thought about that in years.
"You told me it was a stupid idea."
She closed her eyes.
"I know."
I waited.
"I lied."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She looked at me.
"I didn't think it was stupid."
The words hit me harder than I expected.
"Then why did you say it?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because I was afraid."
Again.
Always fear.
"I grew up poor. I was terrified that you would struggle."
I couldn't speak.
"So I pushed you toward safer choices."
She laughed bitterly.
"I thought I was protecting your future."
I stared at her.
"I never knew."
"I know."
Silence settled between us.
"You broke my heart that day," I whispered.
Tears rolled down her face.
"I know."
"And I stopped drawing for years."
She covered her mouth.
"I know."
The pain in her eyes was real.
"I've regretted it every day."
I looked away.
The trees moved gently in the wind.
After a while, she reached into her bag.
She handed me something.
A sketchbook.
I frowned.
"What is this?"
"I bought it years ago."
I opened it.
The pages were empty.
"I wanted to give it to you every birthday."
I looked up.
"But I never had the courage."
I held the sketchbook against my chest.
For the first time in my life, I saw my mother not as the villain of my story.
May you like
But as a woman who had loved badly.
And regretted it deeply.
