My boyfriend left me when I was pregnant because his mother didn’t like me. I’ve raised my son alone for 17 years. Today, I ran into his mother. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’ve been looking for you all these years.”

“I saw your paternal grandmother today,” I blurted out, before I could change my mind.

He blinked in surprise. He knew almost nothing about his paternal family. I had explained the basics to him when he was younger: that his father had left and that I didn’t know anything about them anymore. Because it was the truth. So, yes: I never lied to him. I only had half the story.

He listened attentively as I told him everything that had happened at the market. Every word. Every tear that woman shed. Each confession shattered my version of events.

When I finished, he rested his arms on the table and took a deep breath.

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

The question took me by surprise. I expected him to be angry, to ask questions about his father, to try to find someone to blame. But no. He asked me. And that gesture, so simple, so mature… broke me.

“Confused,” I admitted. “Furious, too. I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t know how… how to forgive something like this.”

“You don’t have to forgive anything if you don’t want to,” he said calmly. “But maybe you need to heal the wound.”

Heal it.

Yes. He was probably right.Continue reading…