Michael Part 2 - Present Day
Michael Part 2 - Present Day
Hope cries against my chest, reliving the terror of my past once again leaves me numb. Shadows circle my mind with sharp claws, ready to pull me in. And I want to go, surrender to oblivion, and never think again of the pain I caused, the crack I left in my family.
"I’m going to kill Andrew," she shouts. "That damn bastard." She clenches her fists. "How could he destroy his own family like this?" she sobs.
Her green eyes meet mine, the storm of emotion bringing me back to reality, to the place I am and the woman crying on my chest. Feeling my pain, wanting to console me, taking my desire for revenge upon herself. I hold Hope tightly, sitting on the bed with her in my lap, burying my nose in her hair, searching for a little peace, my hands trembling as I hold her.
"Look at me, Michael," she asks, sweetness in her voice. Reluctantly, I meet her gaze. "Every time you told me about your mother, I know she never would have wanted to hurt you or see you crying. She loved you every second of her life, and I feel that love through you," her hand touches my chest, "you never had malice in any of your actions, you always thought about what was best for your family, those people you love and who love you with the same intensity."
"If I hadn’t—" I try, but she places a finger on my lips, stopping me from continuing.
"Nothing can change the past, and that’s why we must be sure of our choices so we don’t regret them. I won’t let you live thinking 'what if.' You did everything you could at that moment, and your mother knows. Did she ever look at you with sadness or hurt?"
"No." My throat tightens and my eyes sting.
"Exactly, she loved you, and that’s what love does. It heals all wounds. While she suffered at Andrew’s hands, it was her love for her children that kept her standing and strong. Your mother was admired by all the ladies for never giving in and for remaining firm in our society. There’s no way an incredible woman like her could feel anything other than love for her children." She presses her forehead to mine. "A pure love that helped her endure the pain and transformed it into goodness in your hearts."
"It’s my fault," I sob, the pain tearing through my chest.
"No," Hope says firmly, swallowing her own tears. "If you keep blaming yourself, you’ll turn your mother’s sacrifice into what Andrew wants: into pain, resentment, and tragedy. She chose to love you above all else, sacrificed herself without saying a word that could hurt any of you. Her love protected you and still does. You continue to love your brothers, and I’m certain your mother is proud of each of you. Never say it’s your fault again. Don’t let Andrew tarnish the legacy she left. Your mother was love, not guilt."
"Every day of her life," I murmur, letting Hope’s words touch my heart. "Every second we spent together," I lay my head on my beloved’s chest, "I loved my mother, did what she wanted, I can’t be guilty, right?"
"No, my love," she sobs, gazing into the depths of my soul. "You are a victim, but never the executioner."
"Thank you, Hope." I hide my face in the curve of her neck, absorbing the warmth of her body.
A comfort I thought I would never feel again. Arms around me of a woman who loves me, whom I love with every cell of my being. Just as I loved my mother, there’s no way I could have been the guilty one. I didn’t kill her; I wanted to free her so she could live happily surrounded by her children’s love.
The guilt was never mine, and for the first time in years, I can breathe again.
I spend the night in my beloved’s arms, receiving her comfort. When the clock signals the start of a new day, I remain in bed, inhaling Hope’s sweet scent. But when timid knocks sound at the door, I imagine it’s Emily, ready to go to our mother’s grave.
"After my mother died, Andrew staged a car accident and buried her so no one could see what he did. I’m taking Emily to her grave. Will you come with me?" I don’t feel strong enough to go alone. Not today. All I need is her by my side.
"Of course." She gets up, and I follow her. "I’ll tell Emily we’re getting dressed."
"Okay."
I put on the black suit on autopilot, leaving the room holding Hope’s hand. Emily’s eyes are red and uncertain. Every year I take her to the cemetery and then vanish to destroy myself. This year, however, I want to stay with my family, feel the presence of our mother. I hug the small body that so much reminds me of our mother, kiss her head, and smooth her back.
"Let’s get Matthew."
"I’m here." He appears from the corner of the room.
I pull my brother into a family hug. I don’t remember the last time the three of us suffered together on our mother’s death anniversary. We catch our breath and leave the mansion for the cemetery at the far end of the complex. I grab Hope’s hand, unable to let go, and we walk across the green grass. I see the stone engraved: “Hannah Bianchi, beloved wife and mother.”
"Let’s make a new tombstone," I tell them.
"It could say 'We miss our beloved mother,'" Emily says. "That would be nice." I smooth her hair.
Emily hands over a bouquet of red roses, our mother’s favorite. The four of us stand in silence, staring at the grave. A gentle breeze brushes against us, and the scent of the roses fills the air, bringing the longing to feel her perfume again. I kneel, touch the soft grass, caressing it as if I could feel the silky strands of her hair once more.
In silence, I make a promise: I promise you, mother, I will never live in darkness again. I will lead the life I know you wanted for me—with love, protecting my brothers, never leaving them alone. Forgive me for taking so long; I was lost, but I finally found my hope for better days. I’m sure you would like her. Even if you never said, I know she loves me, and I love her too. Are you happy in heaven, mommy? I’ll make sure we are happy here.
Goodbye, my beloved mother.