when you were sixteen, your mother sat you down and she was crying and you were worried like someone had died and her voice was shuddering and cracked and she said your father, her husband wasn’t actually your father.
you felt something in your throat choke up a little, mostly shock and she just kept going, like this horrible river of lies that she had maintained for 16 years.
"i met your father at an engagement party, he was 21 and i was 34 and i wanted to feel young so i kissed my husband on the cheek and told him i wasnt feeling well and that i was going to leave and then i took off my wedding ring and cheated on my husband."
she’s was outrightly sobbing at that point, this ugly wheezing noise and for the first time in your life, you realized your mother looks old. there are wrinkles and folds under her eyes and where sharp cheekbones and long eyelashes and plump lips used to be is a flacid, gentler face. you wondered if you would look like that one day.
you swallowed the glass in your throat and asked ‘does dad know?’
your mother shaked her head and looked down, suddenly awkward, suddenly quieter, ‘please don’t tell him, he’s never treated you differently than susie or adam, he’d die if he knew, it was a mistake, all of it’.
you realized her implications, ‘you were a mistake, you are a regret’
you reared your hand back and slap her across the face.
then you left.
tagged as: poetry. prose. creative writing. rejectscorner. spilled ink.
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