know, Mum. And that’s because of you. Because you taught me to be kind, to enjoy the things we had, not miss the things we hadn’t.” I brushed my tears away. “But you could have had more, too! You could have had more time, more money. You didn’t have to work so hard, Mum, you worked so hard. All the time! And it made you sad, I made you sad, and he could have helped you! He could have helped us!”
Her eyes met mine. “My God, Katie, you never made me sad. What on earth makes you think you made me sad?”
I had to take a moment. “I used to hear you cry, Mum. Every night, sometimes for weeks. I used to listen to you get upset and know it was about me, because you had to do everything for me. He could have stopped that! He could have helped!”
She took both of my hands, pulled them to her. “I cried a lot when I was younger, Katie. I cried a lot over many things. Missing your father, even though he left me high and dry to go back home to his wife. Missing the life he promised me, all the things I thought we’d have together. I cried for the people in the care home, sweetheart, the people who had nothing, no family to visit them, no reason to get up in the morning. I cried for the people I watched die alone, the people reaching the end of their lives and having nobody to share it with. I cried with frustration that I couldn’t help those people more, that I couldn’t do more hours to help them, that I couldn’t just walk away at night and forget the things I’d seen. I cried for many reasons, so many reasons I can’t remember them all, but not one of them, not once, not ever did I cry about you.”
My tummy hurt. It hurt like it hurt when I was a little girl. “I thought…”
She shook her head. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, from the very moment I knew I was having you, you were the best thing in the world. I’m so proud of you, and I always was. Every minute of every single day.”
“Don’t…” I said.
She looked so scared. I’d never seen her look scared before.
“Don’t hate me, Katie, please don’t. I may have made some bad choices, but I made them with the best intentions. I did my best for you, and sometimes it wasn’t good enough, I know it wasn’t good enough, but I did my best anyway.”
“It was always good enough!” Her pain hit me in the stomach, and I felt it, I felt it as my own. “You taught me to be strong and have faith in myself. You taught me a person’s value is on the inside, in their heart and soul. You taught me to focus on what’s important and not give a crap for the things that aren’t. You taught me to work hard, and put in the effort if you want the result.” I squeezed her hands. “I’m everything I am because of you, Mum. How could I hate you? You believed in me, no matter what.”
“But I kept you from a father who could have offered you so much.” She let out a sob. “All the opportunities that could’ve been yours, just like Verity had them. Schools, and holidays, and horses. I hate myself for that. How could I have let you go without? Just because I was scared? Just because it was too much of a risk? Because you seemed so young?”
“And I didn’t want it, any of it. That isn’t why I’m sad.” I closed my eyes. “I’m sad because I spent my whole childhood thinking he never wanted me. I’m sad because maybe I didn’t give him a chance to get to know me, not because I missed out on some things. Things mean nothing.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “I’m not angry, Mum. I can’t be angry.” I sighed. “This isn’t just your fault. He should have told me, too. He didn’t tell me anything, just took me to his house and tried to jam me into a square hole. He could have told me. He should have told me.”
“We both should have told you.”
“But it’s gone now. It’s done. You taught me that, too, how to concentrate on what’s important. How not to cry over spilled milk