Chapter 4 Mom

• I grip the steering wheel tightly in my hands, my knuckles turn white under the pressure I'm exerting. Just remembering that horrible night makes my body burn with anger. That night is where it all began.
• News that shattered us in the worst possible way, but I believed, I trusted. However, all I got was disappointment, for months and from all directions. My sacrifices, my desire to help, the love we both professed meant nothing. Everything turned into clay and I couldn't do anything about it.
• Because, how do you convince someone not to give up, when they already have?
• Simple. You do nothing. You try to survive. Like the law of the jungle, the survival of the fittest.
• But I was weak, I was in love and that made me doubt, it made me hold on to hope. I couldn't even think about the possibility of a change, there was no room for that in my life, I was happy and I just thought we were going through a rough patch.
• We had been happy for a long time and maybe it was time to show how strong our feelings were, in the face of adversity. The answer to that question, of course, was not what my naive and younger self expected. I never saw it coming, until the change exploded in my face.
• "Why do I force myself to pass by there every day?" I reproach myself for observing the majesty of his new life and the main reason why I remember everything every night.
• I walk through the deserted streets of the city and think of an appropriate answer to that question. It could be seen as some kind of masochism, but it's more like a form of therapy. A way to remind myself of what he achieved, when he finally made up his mind. Seeing the damn store makes me think of the irony of it all, the abysmal difference that now exists between us. He so high up, so comfortable, me, so low, so needy.
• When I finally arrive at the building, I park the car in my usual spot and hurry up the stairs as fast as I can. My small apartment is on the third floor, but Mrs. Pibbot lives on the second, so I only have to climb two flights of stairs.
• In front of the dark wooden door, I search in my bag for the key. Mrs. Pibbot gave me one so I wouldn't have to knock on the door no matter what time I arrived. Now, remembering it, I look at my watch and widen my eyes. It's almost two in the morning, I had never arrived so late before, so I don't know what to expect.
• Maybe Mrs. Pibbot won't want to keep my daughter after this incident. I open the door carefully, trying not to make any noise, and once inside, I go to the room where Audrey usually sleeps. When I see her, my heart bursts with love, the only way I will ever feel it. She is fast asleep on the bed that takes up a considerable space in the small room. The expression on her face is relaxed and her little hands are clasped under her head, using them as pillows.
• I smile excitedly and watch her for a few extra seconds. Her golden curls fall over her shoulders and some ringlets rest on her temples, they perfectly match her fair skin and blue eyes, which I don't need to see to remember their exact shade. My daughter is identical to her father, she is the eternal reminder of everything I once wanted to have with Ernesto, a family. However, despite the hatred and resentment I feel towards him, I am grateful that he gave me the best thing I have in life. Audrey is my everything.
• I sigh when I see her sighing in her sleep. It fills me with tenderness to see her asleep, and I feel sorry for waking her up to go home. She is a good girl, polite and well-behaved. That's why Mrs. Pibbot helps me take care of her while I am working.
• Every night, during my shift at the club, my daughter stays with our neighbor, and that is one of the things that hurts me the most about the job I have. I can hardly spend quality time with my daughter, although I try to do activities during the day, I feel like I miss out on enjoying that unique moment before she goes to sleep, giving her a goodnight kiss on the forehead and wishing her sweet dreams. Every time I come home from work, I do it, but it's not the same, Audrey is asleep and can't hear me.
• I consider the option of waking her up to go to our apartment, but I hesitate when I see her so relaxed. I think about how lonely she must feel with Mrs. Pibbot, there are no other children in the building, and only a few times a week can I take her out for a walk so she can run and play with kids her age. There are moments when I feel like I am a bad mother, for not being able to give her what all children should be able to enjoy, but then I think about everything I do just for her, and that anxiety calms down a bit, although it doesn't disappear.
• "Darling, leave her here today," Mrs. Pibbot's voice startles me, and I jump out of bed. I turn to see the old lady at the door of the room wearing her pajamas and a strange hat on her head. I smile.
• "Mrs. Pibbot, you scared me," I whisper, smiling and with a hand on my chest. I approach her to greet her and apologize for the hour. "I'm sorry, everything took a little longer today. I understand if..."
• "Hush, dear, I would never stop taking care of your daughter," she gestures with her hand, dismissing my words, and then smiles before adding, "Come with me, I'll make some tea."
• I turn once to see Audrey and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I walk to the kitchen, just a few steps from the room, where the old lady is putting a kettle full of water on the fire. I look around, and on the table, a drawing obviously made by Audrey catches my eye. I approach, and my eyes water at what I see. I feel Mrs. Pibbot's gaze on me.
• "She did it without me asking her," she murmurs, coming to my side.
• In the drawing, my daughter, Mrs. Pibbot, and I are holding hands. Drawn only with lines, but each with a characteristic that can identify us. Audrey, the youngest, Mrs. Pibbot has something on her head that I suppose is her sleeping hat, and I, the drawing representing me, have some letters above that leave no doubt. Two tears fall from my eyes and moisten my cheeks when I take the paper in my hands and breathe deeply, a word written with difficulty almost makes me cry, MOM.
• Audrey is only four and a half years old. Between Mrs. Pibbot and me, we have been teaching her some basic things so she doesn't fall behind other children, but I never thought she could retain this knowledge and use it like this, unsupervised. It fills me with pride and makes me a little more aware of how intelligent she is. It's not just that she repeated a word we have interacted with before, it's also that she knows how to define what her small family is.
• And that's what hurts me about this drawing. She doesn't remember her father, she was only six months old when everything happened. Since then, I have tried to fill that place that should be his, being a mother and a father at the same time. But today is easy because she hasn't started interacting with other children at school yet, as she will soon. When she realizes that something is wrong, she will come to ask me, and how am I supposed to tell a little girl that her father is not here.
• "When that moment comes, we will explain it to her in the best possible way, Amaia," the old lady whispers beside me, and I cry again, for having found someone so special. It's as if she can see through me.
• "How is it possible that he doesn't even care to know what became of us?" I ask, sitting at the table with the drawing still in my hands.
• "It's hard to understand something like this, Amaia. It says a lot about what is important to us, as humans that we are.
• "It's even harder for me," I assure and lower my gaze, "no matter how much time passes and the disappointment grows, I still remember all the promises." I sigh. "All my memories include him.
• I feel that burning sensation in my veins again, spreading throughout my body. The sadness that fills me for a few seconds slowly turns into hatred. This feeling, of which I am not ashamed, has been the driving force in these past years.
• "You are a warrior, Amaia. And you have the best gift of all," she declares, taking my hands in hers, "your daughter is a love and that is thanks to you. There will come a day when all of this will take a one hundred and eighty degree turn and you will be at the forefront. Because he will want to regain what he lost and it will be too late."
• I sigh and want to laugh at the irony of the situation.
• "He's not coming back, Marge," I assure, "and if he does, that will make him even more hypocritical. Let him keep his millions, that may give him a little happiness. Neither my daughter nor I need him. There was a point where we did, but not anymore. Every day I make sure of that.
• "I know, dear," she nods and gets up to take the kettle off the fire. As she looks for the tea bags and arranges them in the medium-sized cups, she continues speaking, "But you must be prepared for when he feels guilty.
• I close my eyes and tilt my head back. I don't even want to think about that moment coming.
• "For now," she says, placing the cup in front of me, "focus on your life, on growing. I know the day will come when you will be able to show your abilities, I pray for that every day.
• I take the hot cup in my hands and bring it to my lips to blow on it. I look at Marge and smile, grateful for all her help and for having her in our lives.
• "Thank you, Marge," I whisper, my eyes teary again.
• Today I am too emotional, but it's worth breaking that self-imposed rule of not crying, if it's for moments like this.
• "Don't mention it, dear. You two make my days happier.
• We fall into silence as we enjoy the tea. I try not to think about anything else, for the sake of my sanity, I must try. Minutes pass and when we finish, I prepare to wake up Audrey to go back to our apartment.
• "Leave her here," Mrs. Pibbot repeats and I look at her, doubtful. She smiles. "Go home, take a long bath and get some sleep. I promised Audrey that I would take her out for ice cream in the morning, so you can sleep in. You need it.
• It's hard for me to accept, because I don't want my daughter to think I didn't come for her. I bite my lower lip, hesitant, but Marge insists and with each passing minute, I feel like I will drop dead from exhaustion.
• "Dear, I promise you that as soon as Audrey wakes up, I will tell her that you came and that I asked for permission to go for ice cream, I assure you she will understand," she says, smiling confidently.
• "Yes, I know that mentioning ice cream will convince her," I laugh too.
• "That's why, go and rest. She will be fine." She approaches me and cups my face with her hands. "I want to see you strong and healthy, I don't like those dark circles or the sadness in your eyes, you must regain your spirits, Amaia. Do it for Audrey and do it for yourself.
• A tear falls and I nod, wiping it away with the back of my hand. I give Marge a kiss on the forehead and before I leave, I go to the room to see Audrey again. I watch her for a few seconds and give her a small kiss, then I go to rest.
• "I miss him a lot."