Chapter 5
The next three weeks were the hardest of my life.
I went to therapy every Tuesday and Thursday after work.
Dr. Rao helped me dig into my past.
Into why I’d become so cruel.
It turned out, I wasn’t just a monster for no reason.
I’d learned it.
From my own mother.
She’d been exactly like me.
Cold.
Demanding.
Cruel.
When I was growing up, I did all the chores in our house.
Cooking, cleaning, laundry.
If I messed up, she hit me.
Slapped me across the face, just like I’d slapped my mother-in-law.
She called me stupid.
Useless.
A waste of space.
I’d grown up thinking that was how love worked.
That the person in charge got to yell and hit and demand.
That everyone else just had to take it.
I’d spent my whole life vowing I’d never be like her.
And then I’d turned into her.
Worse, even.
Because I’d known better.
I’d known how much it hurt.
And I’d done it anyway.
That realization hurt worse than anything.
But it also helped.
It gave me a place to start.
Dr. Rao taught me coping skills.
When I felt angry, I had to walk away.
Count to 10.
Breathe.
I couldn’t yell.
I couldn’t throw things.
I had to use my words, calm and kind, even when I was upset.
I practiced every day.
When I burned my toast in the morning, I didn’t throw the toaster across the kitchen.
I took a deep breath, threw the toast away, and made new.
When my boss yelled at me for a mistake at work, I didn’t go home and take it out on someone weaker.
I went for a run, then talked about it in therapy.
I also started fixing the financial mess I’d made.
I sold all my designer bags.
My diamond jewelry.
The fancy watch I’d bought myself for my 39th birthday.
I got a second job on the weekends, working at a coffee shop downtown.
I was exhausted.
But every time I put another $100 into the separate bank account I’d opened for my mother-in-law, I felt a little lighter.
A little less like a monster.
After three weeks, I called my husband again.
This time, he answered.
“I’ve been going to therapy,” I said before he could hang up.
“Twice a week. I’ve sold almost all my expensive stuff. I have $9,000 saved to pay back Mom. I’m working a second job on the weekends to get the rest. I fixed up the guest room for her. The cot is gone. Please. Just let me see you. All of you. For 10 minutes. That’s all I ask.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“Dr. Rao,” he said finally.
“Is that your therapist?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to call her tomorrow,” he said.
“If she says you’re actually making progress, not just saying words… we’ll meet you at the diner on Main Street. Saturday. 10 a.m. But Mia? If this is some kind of trick, if you yell, or make a scene, or even look at Mom wrong? We’re done. Forever. No more chances.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“I promise. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I hung up and screamed into a pillow.
I was so happy I could barely breathe.
I had a meeting.
A real meeting.
I just had to not mess it up.
Saturday came.
I wore a simple blue dress.
No makeup.
I didn’t want to look like the fancy, cruel woman they knew.
I wanted to look like me.
The real me, the one I was trying to find again.
I got to the diner 15 minutes early.
I sat in a booth by the window and waited.
My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold my coffee.
They walked in at 10 on the dot.
My husband first, holding the door open.
Then my mother-in-law.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Paler.
The handprint was gone from her cheek, but there was a wariness in her eyes I’d never seen before.
Then my daughter.
She held her grandmother’s hand tight, like she was ready to pull her away at any second.
They slid into the booth across from me.
No one said anything for a long, awkward minute.
My husband broke the silence.
“I called Dr. Rao,” he said.
“She says you’re doing well. That you’re working hard. That you understand how much damage you did.”
“I am,” I said.
I reached into my purse and pulled out the bank book, the receipt for the $9,000, and the paperwork for the second job.
I slid them across the table to him.
“I have $9,000 saved already. I’ll have the other $8,000 by the end of next month. Every cent, plus interest. I’m sorry I took it. I had no right. It was yours, Mom. All of it.”
My mother-in-law looked at the papers.
She didn’t touch them.
She just stared at them, her face unreadable.
“I’ve been going to therapy twice a week,” I said, looking right at her.
“I know why I did the things I did. My mom was the same way to me. But that’s not an excuse. It’s just a reason. I chose to be cruel. I chose to take my anger out on you. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
Tears spilled down my face.
I didn’t wipe them.
I wanted them to see how much I meant it.
“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness,” I said.
“I know I hurt you all more than I can ever say. But I’m going to keep trying. Every single day. I’m going to be better. For you. For all of us.”
No one said anything.
My daughter was staring at the table.
My husband was watching me closely.
My mother-in-law was still looking at the bank papers.
Finally, she reached out.
She touched the receipt for the $9,000 with one shaking finger.
She looked up at me.
And for the first time since the party, her eyes weren’t full of fear.
They were full of something else.
Sadness.
Pity.
Maybe even a tiny spark of the love she used to have for me.
“Your mother was a hard woman,” she said softly.
“I knew that. I saw how she treated you at your wedding. I always thought you’d grow out of it. That you’d see how much love there is in being kind, instead of being loud.”
She paused.
She wiped a tear from her own cheek.
“I loved you like my own daughter from the first day I met you,” she said.
“When you married my boy, I thought I’d gained a daughter. Not lost a son to a monster. But… people can change. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen addicts get sober. I’ve seen cruel people learn to be kind. If you’re really trying, Mia… I’ll give you one chance. One. If you ever yell again. If you ever throw anything. If you ever even raise your hand to anyone in this family… we’re gone. And we’ll never come back. Do you understand?”
I nodded so hard my neck hurt.
“I understand,” I said.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I won’t waste this chance. I promise.”
My daughter looked up then.
She looked at her grandma, then at me.
“One chance,” she echoed.
“That’s all.”
My husband reached across the table.
He didn’t take my hand.
But he closed the bank book and pushed it back toward me.
“Okay,” he said.
“One chance. We start slow. You come over to the apartment for dinner tomorrow night. 6 p.m. Don’t be late. And don’t bring anything fancy. Just… come.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
I was smiling through my tears.
For the first time in months, I felt like things might actually be okay.
I didn’t know then that the hardest part was still ahead.
May you like
That saying sorry was the easy part.
Proving it, every single day, would be the fight of my life.
