There was something about that morning that weighed heavier than usual. The curtains filtered in the sunlight, but I couldn't help but feel like the day was shrouded in shadows. I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at the photograph I had on the bedside table: my mother smiling, with that glow she always carried with her, as if the world could not reach her with her miseries. It was his birthday.
It had been a few years since he left, but the void was still just as deep. My father, of course, didn't remember. By the time I went downstairs for breakfast, I was already immersed in work calls, going over plans for the clubhouse meeting. Not a word about her, not a gesture.
"Sack, make sure you're ready by ten. I don't want delays," was the only thing he said when he saw me.
He didn't even bother to look at me. His tone was as monotonous as ever, as if I was just another part of his schedule. I wanted to say something, to make him notice what day it was, but in the end I didn't. He knew there was no room for such things in his world.
Breakfast passed without words. I fiddled with the fork, pushing the scrambled egg back and forth on the plate. I wasn't hungry. Each bite was like a reminder of how much was missing in that house since my mother was gone.
When the time came, I got in the car with him, and the drive to the clubhouse was just as quiet. My father was going through documents on his tablet, indifferent to everything else. The knot in my stomach became tighter with each kilometer. My mood, already fragile, was on the verge of collapse.
"Remember to behave. This meeting is important," he finally said, breaking the silence just as he parked the car in front of the clubhouse.
"As always," I replied, without bothering to hide my sarcasm.
He gave me a fleeting glance, but said nothing. Maybe because he knew he was right. Fulfilling his idea of perfection had been my role for as long as I could remember. Today, however, I had no desire to pretend.
Upon entering the building, the spotless walls and perfectly manicured gardens only intensified my discomfort. My father, as always, led the meeting with an energy that was exhausting to me. I stood in a corner, staring at an indeterminate point while the adults talked about things that didn't interest me.
It was not a good day. And I knew it wasn't going to get better.
Then Lindsay appeared. His attempt at conversation was not enough to calm me down, although I must admit that for a moment I thought it might distract me. But he didn't. Every word we exchanged only added to my frustration, and when she tried to confront me about my attitude, I exploded. I told him things I shouldn't have, I let my anger speak for me. The worst thing is that he knew it wasn't his fault. Lindsay hadn't done anything to deserve my fury, but at that moment, I couldn't stop myself.
The discomfort on his face haunted me even after I walked away. I could feel his eyes on me as I left the room, ignoring the curious gazes of the others. My father would surely have something to say about it later, but I didn't care. I needed to leave, get away from it all.
I got in the car without looking back and drove. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but my hands seemed to have a plan of their own. Before I knew it, I was parking in front of the cemetery.
I walked between the tombstones until I reached my mother's. There she was, her name engraved in stone, surrounded by withered flowers that someone had left long ago. I took out the small bouquet I had bought at a gas station on the way and carefully placed it in front of the grave.
"Happy birthday, Mom," I whispered, feeling the words crack in my throat.
The air was still, and the only sound was the rustle of the wind through the trees.
"It's hard, you know?" I murmured, breaking the silence. "Without you..." everything seems so empty. Dad never mentions it, and I... I don't know how to deal with this. Sometimes I feel like I'm alone in this, like you're the only one who understood me.
A light breeze caressed my face, and for a second I wanted to imagine that it was her, that she was somehow listening to me. My hands were shaking, but I didn't try to hide it.
"I'm trying to be strong, Mom. But it's so hard. Every day I feel like something pulls me down, that the world weighs more than I can bear. And today, especially today..." My voice cracked, and I closed my eyes tightly, trying to hold back the tears that inevitably began to fall.
I stood there, speaking to the grave as if she could respond, letting the emotions I'd been suppressing all day come to the surface. It didn't matter if no one else understood it; At that moment, it was the only thing I could do to move forward.
"You know, Mom, I decided I want to study medicine," I finally said, my voice now barely a whisper. "As you did. I know Dad disagrees, that he says it's a waste of time. But I'm sorry, I can't go on her way. I don't want to.
I remember all the times we argued about this. Dad wanted me to study business, to follow in his footsteps in the world of real estate. "It's practical," he always said. "You will have stability, a guaranteed future." But I couldn't imagine myself trapped in that life. So I insisted, over and over again, until I finally managed to come to terms with him.
"He told me that if I wanted to study medicine, I had to prove that I could be independent. That after graduating I would have to start my own business. And if it failed, if it didn't work out, then I would have to accept a position at his company. In the world of real estate that suffocates me so much.
The wind blew a little harder, and I looked up at the sky. I wanted to believe that, somehow, she was proud of me. Or at least, that he was not alone in this decision.
"I'm going to make it worthwhile, Mom." I'm going to try to be someone you'd be proud of. Even if he has to carry the weight of dad's expectations. Even if the road is difficult.
I stood there a while longer, letting the silence speak for us. Then I got up, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. I knew I had to come back, but I also knew that this moment had given me something I didn't expect: a little strength to keep going.