Chapter 90
-Maya POV-
The air hung heavy, thick with the unspoken weight of years. To be hated by both of your own parents- the very thought sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over me. Could anything be more devastating, more soul–crushing?
“No. I don’t hate you, Amaya.”
The words washed over me, a gentle wave breaking through the storm raging within. I stared at her, searching her eyes, desperately seeking
confirmation of what I hoped was the truth.
And I found it.
There was no pity, no condescension, just a deep, raw honesty that resonated deep within my soul.
She didn’t hate me.
She didn’t and the words tumbled out of me in a rush, “I’m sorry, sorry I was a constant reminder of what you’d never have. Sorry that father’s heart was starting to thaw and then I came along and froze it solid again. Lam so sorry.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand, silencing her for a moment. “I’m not finished. I’m sorry I chose him, but I will not apologize for choosing love. For choosing someone who showed me what it meant to be cherished when I was treated like an afterthought in my own home.”
My voice shook with anger now. “You were never there for me, Mom. The maids practically raised me. You never stood up for me, never had my back. I’m sorry for any pain I caused you, but you never gave me a reason to choose you in the first place.”
Her eyes flashed with hurt, a flicker of anger briefly replacing the sadness. But then, just as quickly, it subsided, replaced by a weary
acceptance.
“I know. That’s why I called you. That’s why I asked you to bring the twins.Because I’m tired of this charade. Tired of living a life filled with regrets. I want to know what it feels like to be a mother,a grandmother, to these beautiful children.”
She reached out a hand, hesitantly hovering in the space between us. I stared at it, a fragile offering of peace after years of unspoken war. Looking into her eyes, I saw a reflection of myself, a woman yearning for connection, for a family. The anger slowly receded, replaced by a cautious hope.
Taking a deep breath, I reached out and took her hand. It was cool and trembling slightly, but the touch sent a spark of warmth through me. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to heal the wounds of the past, to build a bridge between us. For the sake of the twins, for myself, and maybe, just maybe, for her too. Or maybe I just wanted to know what it would feel like to be loved by my mother, just like I loved the twins.
“I don’t know if it will be easy. So much time has passed and i don’t just know,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. “But for the sake of the twins, for my sake, I’m willing to try.”
A small smile touched her lips, “Thank you, Amaya,” she whispered, her voice trembling. That’s all I ask.””
A long silence stretched between us. The only sound was the distant chirping of birds and the faint hum of Insects in the warm afternoon sun, alongside the twins excited chatter. sat there, hand in hand, a fragile connection forming after years of estrangement.
Suddenly, a blur of pink and yellow darted across the grass, a tiny figure squealing with delight. Ivy, her dark curls bouncing, raced towards
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Chapter 90
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us, a triumphant grin plastered across her face. In her outstretched hand, she clutched a crumpled butterfly, its wings slightly damp and
disheveled.
“Look, Mom!” she shricked, stopping right in front of me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
I crouched down to her level, “Wow, Ivy! That’s a beautiful butterfly,” I exclaimed, reaching out a finger to gently touch its delicate wing.
She giggled, “Can you hold it?” she asked, tilting her head inquisitively.
“Of course, sweetie,” I replied, carefully cradling the butterfly in my palm. “See how gentle you need to be with it?”
She nodded solemnly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she watched the butterfly flutter against my skin then surprisingly she turned to my mother, “Do you want to see too?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed my face. As if my hesitation, Ivy reached out, tugging my hand towards my mother. “Seel” she insisted, her voice laced with a hint of impatience.
My mother said she wanted to get to know them but I still wasn’t sure. We had only met in the middle barely minutes ago so I still wasn’t sure but with deep breath, I turned to my mother who was staring like she was seeing us for the first time.
“Ivy wants to show you the butterfly,” I said softly, extending my hand holding the delicate creature. Sne smiled reluctantly, not looking at the butterfly I stretched out to her but me, after a moment, she finally looked at it then smiled at my daughter, “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Ivy’s lower lip trembled, tears welling up in her eyes and her mood changing in a span of seconds, “But it wants to leave.”
A smile grazed my mother’s lips, “Butterflies don’t like to be held. They need to be free to fly in the garden.”
Ivy stared at her, her brow furrowed. “Free?” she asked, a hint of curiosity replacing her sadness.
My mother nodded. “Yes, free. Just like you, they need to fly around and play in the sunshine.”
“So I need to let it go even though I don’t want to?”
“Everyone deserves to be free.”
Like she had a newfound understanding, Ivy slowly pushed my hands open, watching as the butterfly, freed from its temporary prison, fluttered its wings and soared into the clear blue sky.
Her followed its trajectory with her eyes, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. “Bye–bye, butterfly,” she whispered, waving a tiny hand. “Go play in the sunshine.”
As the last glimpse of the butterfly vanished over the trees, I looked at my mother. I could help the smile that had registered itself in my face. I wanted this, this relationship. I didn’t realize just how much I did until this moment. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for us to build a new kind of relationship, one based on understanding and acceptance. And perhaps, in the process, we could both learn to appreciate the beauty and freedom of the world around us, just like the butterfly that had flown away but it was short lived.
The warmth that had bloomed in my chest at my mother’s somewhat connection with Ivy and the innocent joy of the butterfly’s release vanished in an instant. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over me. My father’s voice, sharp and laced with venom,cut through the peaceful afternoon.
“What are the bastard’s children doing in my house?”
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Chapter 90
Ivy, who had been engrossed in watching the butterfly disappear into the sky, flinched violently. Her bright smile vanished, replaced by al look of pure feat. Nate, who had been happily rolling in the mud with a plastic truck, stopped mid–motion, his head snapping up as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
My mother was on her feet in a flash, her back stiff with sudden defiance. “Don’t you dare call them that in front of them,” she snapped, her voice surprisingly firm. “And for your information, I invited them.”
Her words seemed to hang in the air, a challenge thrown down. My father turned on her, his glare icy and laced with disbelief. “You invited them? To my house? Without my permission?”
His voice was a low growl, menacing and dangerous, Ivy buried her face in my stomach, her tiny body trembling. I expected my mother to crumble under his gaze, to retreat back into her usual timid shell. Instead, she stood her ground, her chin held high.
“Yes. Because they are my grandchildren, and I want to get to know them. And stop using that tone, Daniel. You’re scaring them.”
Ivy burrowed deeper into me, her small hand clutching my shirt as if it were a lifeline. Nate, still perched on the grass, watched the tense. exchange with wide, wary eyes. These weren’t scenes I wanted them to witness- the hostility, the raw anger. Every instinct screamed at me to grab the twins and get them out of there, but I couldn’t move.
My father, seeing his initial shock giving way to defiance in my mother, snorted. “They are the bastard’s children,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “They will never be my grandchildren.”
He leaned forward, his words aimed at me like a physical blow. “I want them out,” he growled. They stared each other down, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
Finally, my mother spoke, her voice quiet but resolute. “No. They are not leaving. Neither is Amaya.”
My
father’s eyes narrowed, his face contorted in fury. “Don’t make me throw them out.”
I held my breath, watching the scene unfold like a slow-motion car crash. My mother held his gaze,
“Try it. And I’ll end this marriage. Touch them, and I will leave you, Daniel.”
her jaw set in a
a determined line.
i
