hapter 17
After dinner, the interns went for a walk to
see the city lights.
I smiled and went to the parking lot.
Then I saw Brittany, crying.
She looked older than I remembered.
She had a lot of spots on her face.
She was wringing her hands.
She looked up, her eyes full of tears.
“Mom…” she whispered.
I turned and started to walk away.
Then she grabbed my arm and shouted, “Why
did you ruin my life? Was it because I wasn’t
your real daughter?”
I sighed.
“If that makes you feel better, then go ahead
and believe that,” I said.
Her eyes turned red, and she started to get
angry.
“Why didn’t you make me stay after school?”
she cried.
“Why did you cancel all my lessons?”
“Why didn’t you stop me from dating Jake?”
She was furious.
I stopped her.
“Hold on,” I said.
“You told me I wasn’t your mom and you
didn’t need me. Remember?”
“You always reminded me that I wasn’t your
daughter,” I finished.
“I tried to help you, but you chose to fall.”
She started shaking and crying.
She collapsed on the ground.
“But it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” she
cried.
“I was supposed to be at Yale! You were
supposed to die!”
I looked down at her, cold.
Brittany was like me.
She started laughing.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered.
“It’s all a dream.
“I’m at Yale, and you died in a car crash! We got a lot of money! That’s it, I remember.”
People were staring.
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She destroyed her life.
I felt nothing.
I didn’t want to be a show, so I started
walking toward my car.
I heard her crying.
“Mom, I’m sorry!” she cried.
“I’m so sorry, if I could do it again, I would
listen to you!”
I closed the door.
I watched her cry on the ground.
I thought about that little girl, her
stepdaughter over a decade ago
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stepdaughter over a decade ago.
The dirty, little girl.
Hiding behind her grandma.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m your mom!” I had said with a warm smile.
She smiled and ran into my arms.
“Mommy…” she cried.
What happened?
I started the engine, the roar a clean, decisive break from the past.
I backed out of the parking space, careful,
methodical
L
I backed out of the parking space, careful,
methodical.
Each rotation of the tires felt like putting
another mile between myself and the
wreckage of what could have been.
As I drove out of the restaurant parking lot, I
risked one last glance in the rearview mirror.
She was still there, a crumpled heap on the
asphalt, her sobs echoing faintly in the night
air.
The flashing neon sign of the restaurant cast
long, distorted shadows around her, making
her look even smaller, more vulnerable.
Then, with a sigh, I shifted into drive and
pressed down on the accelerator, leaving her
The flashing neon sign of the restaurant cast
long, distorted shadows around her, making
her look even smaller, more vulnerable.
Then, with a sigh, I shifted into drive and
pressed down on the accelerator, leaving her
behind.
The road stretched out before me, dark and
inviting, a promise of new horizons, of a life
lived on my o
terms.
The past, with all its pain and regret, was
firmly in the rearview mirror.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt truly
free.
