Chương 6: Chapter 6
Alex's relationship with his mother was a paradox of love and guilt. His connection to her had always been the deepest bond he knew, yet the weight of his own existence felt like a burden he had unwillingly placed on her. She carried him for nine long months, enduring not only the physical strain but also the emotional toll of being tethered to an abusive marriage. She almost lost her life bringing him into the world, and this fact haunted Alex with every breath he took. He often found himself wondering if he was worth the pain she had gone through.
When he was younger, Alex didn't realize the emotional cost of his actions. As a child, he sought her attention in ways that now felt so cruel. He would make small, deliberate cuts on his body, leaving them to heal just enough before reopening them again, watching the blood seep out like some twisted game. It hurt, yes, but he wasn't doing it for the pain. He was doing it for her. The more worried she became, the more comforted he felt. It wasn't until later in life that he understood how toxic his need for her attention had been. At the time, he just craved her presence, her attention, her love—no matter the cost. Her face, always filled with concern, became a source of comfort to him, and he selfishly fed on that, never realizing how much it must have hurt her.
To Alex, his mother was nothing short of an angel. She had a kind of beauty that went beyond her physical appearance. It was in her soul, in the way she gave everything to him, in the way she smiled even when her world was falling apart. No matter how hard her life became, she never failed to tuck him into bed, to kiss his forehead, to tell him that she loved him more than the world itself. To him, she was more than just a mother—she was his light, his sanctuary, the one person in this world who had ever truly cared for him. But he had never truly understood the depth of her love until it was too late. Until he lost her.
Alex's father, on the other hand, was a monster disguised as a man. He wasn't abusive in the ways some might recognize, but he was worse—cruel in ways that left scars on both his mother's heart and her soul. He didn't beat her black and blue, but he did something far more damaging. He broke her spirit. His abuse was psychological, emotional—slow, insidious, and deeply corrosive. Alex would often hear his mother cry quietly at night, sitting by the window, staring up at the moon as if it could offer her the answers she so desperately sought.
She would sit there and whisper to herself, asking God why she had been cursed with such a life. Why, after all she had done to love her husband, had he betrayed her? Why did he treat her like she was less than nothing, when all she had ever done was support him? She had sacrificed everything for Alex's father—her career, her family, her friends. She left the people who loved her behind because he asked her to. She had once believed he was the love of her life, and for that love, she would have followed him to the ends of the earth. But she hadn't expected the end of the earth to be the hell she was now living in.
In the early years of their marriage, Alex's father had been poor, and his mother had stood by him through it all. She worked, she saved, she supported him while he chased after his dreams. When he finally found success, she believed things would get better—that their struggles were finally over. But wealth didn't bring them happiness. Instead, it brought out the worst in his father. He became crueler, more distant. When he was rich enough to do as he pleased, he left her, casting her aside like she was disposable. He remarried a younger woman who only loved him for his money, while Alex's mother was left with nothing but memories of a man who had once promised her the world.
Alex could still remember the nights when his father would come home, angry over something trivial, and take it out on his mother. He would bang her head against the wall, yelling at her for things she couldn't control. Sometimes it was because she hadn't heard the doorbell; other times it was because the dinner wasn't to his liking. He'd throw plates of food against the walls, screaming at her for putting too much salt in the dish, and all she could do was clean up the mess and apologize. She never fought back. She never raised her voice. She only cried in silence, her hands trembling as she picked up the broken pieces of her shattered life.
She never told Alex what was wrong, never wanted him to see her suffering. But Alex knew. He saw the bruises, the red marks, the way she flinched whenever his father raised his hand, even if it was just to scratch his head. She would make excuses, saying she had tripped or bumped into something. But Alex wasn't a fool. He knew the truth, and it burned inside him like a fire he couldn't control.
Alex's heart ached with the weight of it all. Now, she was gone. His mother—the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally, who had sacrificed everything for him—was gone. And he would never get the chance to apologize. He would never be able to tell her how much he appreciated her, how much he loved her. He would never be able to take back the years he had spent being selfish, the years when he had taken her love for granted.
He would give up anything—everything—just to see her again. To hold her hand, to hear her voice, to feel her arms around him one last time. But life didn't offer second chances. His mother was gone, and all that was left was the emptiness that filled his chest, the cold, hollow ache that would never fade.
Tears spilled from Alex's eyes, but his face remained emotionless, a mask of numbness that he couldn't break. He didn't have the strength to cry properly, to scream, to let out the pain that was ripping him apart from the inside. All he could do was let the tears fall silently, each drop a reminder of the love he had lost, the love he had never truly appreciated until it was too late.
And when the tears finally stopped, all that was left was the void. An endless, aching void where his heart used to be.
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