Page 79 of Absolution

“And according to her?” she asks gently.

I pause, throat tightening.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I never asked.”

Dr. Nina leans forward slightly. “So let me ask you this, how can you expect to heal from your own pain, your own patterns, if you’ve never really looked at the people who taught you how to carry it?”

That lands hard.

“I think,” she says slowly, “you’ve been trying so hard not to be your father that you didn’t even notice how much of your mother you carry too.”

My eyes snap up to hers.

“You said she stayed. That she looked away. That she chose silence. You’ve done that too, haven’t you? When things got messy? When it was easier to bury the truth?”

I swallow.

“She didn’t stop him,” Dr. Nina continues. “And you didn’t stop yourself. You let it happen. Just like she did. And maybe that’s where the shame really lives.”

It’s quiet for a long time.

I nod, finally. “Yeah.”

“You don’t heal by erasing where you come from,” she says softly. “You heal by finally facing it.”

The opportunity to talk to my mother comes sooner than I want.

One of the reasons I chose mediation was to keep everything low-key. Quiet. Off the family radar. But my luck, apparently, has run out.

The following Saturday, I pull into the apartment complex and immediately notice the sleek black limo parked out front. Not just idling, but parked like it owns the lot. No driver leaning on the hood, no family members waiting on the steps. They’re still inside.

Which means only one person could be behind this particular brand of dramatics.

Fuck.

The door opens before I even reach it.

And out steps my mother.

Perfectly dressed in beige and cream, oversized sunglasses on despite the darkening sky. She looks like she’s coming back from brunch at the country club, not dropping a bomb on her only child.

She air-kisses both my cheeks like I’m her girlfriend in from Europe.

“Kyle, darling,” she says sweetly. “What is this I hear about a divorce? That woman has finally done it, hasn’t she?”

I exhale. “How did you find out?”

She acts like I’ve asked the stupidest question on earth. “I came to surprise the children. Imagine my shock when the babysitter informs me you no longer live there. Really, Kyle? No warning? I had to find out like this?”

“Let’s talk inside,” I say, jaw tight, and lead her into the apartment.

She pauses just past the threshold, taking it all in, narrow hallway, the barely decorated living room, a few unpacked boxes, IKEA furniture. Her lips purse with judgment before she even opens her mouth.

“This is what you left the house for?”

I grit my teeth.

She continues. “Why would you give that up? The prenup clearly stated the house remains in your possession-”

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