Page 63 of Unforgivable Sins

“Shit!” I rush to lower the heat. “Mom? Where are you? You left the stove on!”

There’s a bag of fideo noodles and the ingredients to make it sitting on the counter, but you don’t boil water for fideo so, I’m not sure what she was doing. Still, Sopa de Fideo is one of my favorite things to eat when it gets cold and it makes me smile that she’s making it for me, even if she got off on the wrong foot. I’m thankful that she hasn’t started cooking yet and it’s just water that boiled over. At least dinner isn’t ruined. There’s a win. I sigh again and head back out into the living room. I pick up my bag and walk down the hallway, the temperature getting cooler the further away I get from the living room but it’s still not terrible. Last I knew our heat was still working, we just use the wood burning stove to add more heat without having to ramp up the furnace.

“Mom? Where are you?” I shout, asI open the door to my bedroom and toss my bag on the floor.

I continue down the hallway, passed the washer and dryer, the bathroom, and stop in front of the last door. The door to my mom’s room.

I knock. “Mom, hey, I’m home. Do you want me to start the noodles?”

No response.

“Mom? Are you ok? Can I come in?”

No response.

I try the handle. It turns. I slowly open the door.

“Mom?”

I see her lying on the bed, on her side with her back to the door, and a tightness in my chest releases as I sigh. She’s just asleep.

I close the door and head back into the kitchen to make dinner for us. Thirty minutes later, when dinner is ready, and she still hasn’t come out of her room, I go back to wake her up.

I open her door. She’s in the same spot she was in earlier. “Mom, wake up. Dinner is ready,” I say, louder than before, trying to wake her.

She doesn’t stir.

“Mom, hey! Wake up, dinner is ready.” I walk into her room, pass the foot of her bed, and freeze.

She looks like she’s sleeping. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful. But then my eyes take in her outstretched arm and the shoestring and needle on the floor beneath it.

I don’t rush to her to check for a pulse. I don’t run out of the house and across the arroyo to my aunt and uncle’s house to use their phone to call an ambulance. I don’t scream,

or cry, or fall to my knees in horror. I don’t react at all.

I freeze. I stand here, frozen as solid as a statue, not even breathing, and I stare at her lifeless body. I know it’s too late to do anything else but stand here and accept it. I feel numb inside. Broken. Fuck, I’ve always felt so broken. I should feel something, anything would be better than the bleak emptiness inhabiting my chest. But it doesn’t even matter how I react. No one is here to see me and judge me anyway. I have no one to turn to.

Once again, I’m alone.

And this feels….final. Like this is how the rest of my life is going to pan out. Dani left. Kizzy left. Mom left. There’s literally nothing and no one left. Only me.

How fucked up of a person am I to be thinking of myself in this situation? My mom is dead, she took her own life, and I’ll never know if it was an accident or on purpose. Maybe she was struggling with more than I could ever understand, but all I can think about right now is the fact that my own mother didn’t want me enough to stay in this life with me. She continuously made her choice and now there’s no coming back from it. No more chances of a regular, happy life. No more wasted breaths on empty apologies. No more wondering if she’ll be there to pick me up from my game. She’ll never watch me graduate, and date, and go through heartache, and get a job, and fuck up and make mistakes, and all the things that a mother should be here for.

Everyone is selfish.

Everyone lies.

Everyone leaves.

“Wendee, hey, wake up.”

The sound of Sinn’s deep voice pulls me from my nightmare. I jerk awake, sitting up quickly, my eyes frantically take in the penthouse. I feel disoriented and like I should be back in that memory, back in the trailer, back to being the broken young girl I’ve tried so hard to outrun.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath that shudders in my chest. The tears push against my closed eyelids, but I refuse to let them fall. I’ve cried enough for ten lifetimes. I don’t need to spend the few days I have left crying and feeling sorry for myself.

Sinn’s large hands are cupping my face with a gentleness that grips my chest. He may as well be squeezing my tear ducts, like you would ring out a wash cloth, urging the tears to flow. His quiet comfort and affection are too much for me. I’m seconds away from breaking apart in his arms. I grab his wrists and pull his hands away from my face, holding his hands in my lap instead.

“I’m ok.” I blow out a steady breath and open my eyes.

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