“Come on, we’re getting married anyway. My parents would like to see your mother.”
Cold sweat started on her skin. He looked concerned and upset at the same time. She drew in a sharp breath before responding in panic:
“No, forget it. Bad idea.”
“What do you mean?” He was now exasperated. “Hon, she’s your own mother.”
“You won’t get it.”
“Then, help me to understand.”
“You can’t!” With that, she burst in tears and ran away. She was relieved that he wasn’t chasing after her – demanding an answer.
— // —
I’m sorry about the last time. I know I’m being such a coward by only sending you this letter. All I know is that, I can’t really see you right now.
I’m also sorry that I lied to you about my mother. She’s still alive. Why was I raised by my grandparents? It’s complicated. To make it easier for you to understand, I guess I have no choice but to lay this all out on the line.
Long story short, I only met Mama three times in my life – or at least that’s how I remember it. When I was a little girl, I remember running to hug her leg, begging to be picked up and cuddled. Instead of doing what all normal mothers usually do, she pushed me instead.
I fell on the floor and started to cry. My grandparents rushed to my rescue. Grandma picked me up and held me, while Grandpa was yelling at Mama:
“You didn’t have to do that. She’s just a child!”
“She’s a monster’s child!” hissed Mama. Grandpa was angrier. I was howling louder, with Grandma hugging me closer.
“You watch your tongue, young lady!” Grandpa barked. “That’s your child too.”
“Well, I never asked!” With that, Mama turned around and stormed out of the house.
The second and third (and probably the last, I think), I stayed away from her. I was scared. I simply hid in my bedroom everytime Mama turned up. I didn’t want her to push me and yell at me again.
That was the last time I saw her before she left this town. She said she was seeing someone who’d accept her for her. I remember Grandma crying, begging her to stay:
“Your daughter needs her mother.”
“You were the ones asking me to keep her,” she said coldly. “Nobody asked me what I wanted. He certainly never did!”
I bet you’re wondering now. While we’re already halfway to this story, I’ll just carry on.
“Grandma, why does Mama hate me so much?” Grandma had cried when I first asked her that question. She held me and kissed my forehead.
“Not your fault, baby,” she’d always said. “Your mama’s just tired.”
Of course, that had only lasted for a while. As I got older, they realised they could no longer keep the ugly truth from me. Eventually, one way or another, I’d find out. I had to know.
Just like you need to know about my parents.
I’ve never known Dad. In fact, I’ll never even call him that, not after what he’s done. He’s the reason that, no matter how much Mama might hate me – I can never be angry at her. I feel sorry for her. You see, she wasn’t as lucky as I am now. I met you, but she met…him. It didn’t take long for him to destroy her entire world. Her hopes, her dreams…
You see, she was right. She’d never planned to have me. Even if she had wanted one like me, it shouldn’t have been this way. She’d probably love me, if I hadn’t been conceived through her terror and tears…
She’d probably love me if I looked more like her, instead of…him. The man she always calls a ‘monster’.
The monster who had raped her that night…
That’s why I can never get angry at her for not wanting to have anything to do with me. It’s not her fault that I’ll always be that start, awful reminder of what had happened to her.
It’s not my fault too that I look more like him. I mean, I’ve never asked for this face. What can I do? The least I can do now is leave her be. I owe it to her, because she decided to let me live – even when keeping me was actually her parents’ choice instead of hers.
There. I’ve told you everything. Since the last guy chose to end our engagement out of his parents’ concern that I was the ‘bad seed’, then what about you? Are you going to walk out on me too?
I’m not the begging type. Either way, I have to be ready.