It's said that parents can be very intense when it comes to worrying about their children. It's true. My parents tried talking to me all afternoon and evening, but I kept telling them over and over to leave me alone. Clearly, they didn't.
My mother, with the patience she was always known for, entered the room. She sat beside me without saying a word. At first, she just watched me in silence, as if she knew I needed that space. Her presence felt uncomfortable.
After a while, in a gentle voice, she asked me to tell her what had happened. There was no pressure, only a genuine desire to understand me.
"Son, please tell me what happened to you. I'm here to listen to you," said my mother, holding my hand firmly. I still didn't want to open up, but I couldn't ignore the weight of her determination.
I tried to ignore her. But guilt haunted me. Having her beside me made me feel the need to talk to her about what was going on, about the burden I carried within me. That guilt reminded me, over and over, of the image of the blood on her leg and the slap I received. I couldn't keep hiding what had happened; I couldn't keep carrying this burden alone.
I knew I had to speak. I couldn't keep this anguish locked inside me any longer.
Finally, I plucked up the courage and told my mother everything. I did it with a lot of shame; I felt vulnerable. She listened patiently and understood.
"It's not your fault, son, it's not your fault," my mom said, gently caressing my hand.
She spoke to me with that calm she always had, helping me see that what happened wasn't my fault. She explained that if that girl reacted that way, it was probably due to fear or the shock she was feeling at that moment. Her words began to lighten the weight in my chest.
I realized, in a way, that she was right.
"…"
I couldn't respond. The words got stuck in my throat; all I could do was cry. The tears fell again, but this time not out of guilt or despair, but from the relief of feeling understood.
As I cried, I saw my dad at the door; I guess he had been listening to our conversation from the beginning. He didn't say anything, but his gaze reflected support. I could feel the love of both of them.
As I was about to say something, my mother and father came over and gave me a hug, a strong, warm hug, in which the three of us shared the relief of that moment. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was not alone.
That night, I went to bed with a calmer mind. I had gained a better understanding of what had happened. The guilt I felt began to fade. I realized that not everything is always under our control. What matters is how we face these situations.
In the end, I was able to rest that day.