Page 9 of Addiction

“I didn’t want to do this today,” she smiles flatly. “This is your day. You do not need to hear about me and my problems, Asher.”

“This is our day, Mom. Not mine. And I want to know why you have that look in your eye.” Panic hits me and she notices. “Are you sick?”

“No. No. It’s nothing like that.” She takes hold of my hand with both of hers. “I reduced my hours at the hospital when you went into rehab. Truth is, I’d been struggling for some time. After your father died, I felt I had to be strong for everyone. I am a mother, and my children needed me.” She pauses, tears now in her eyes. “With you not coming home for your father’s funeral and then everything with Nora’s accident, I still had to be the one who kept it all together, even though I was grieving myself. I told myself I was fine when, deep down, that wasn’t the case. I felt like I was drowning, Asher, and when you went to jail, I couldn’t hide it anymore. I have been diagnosed with depression, darling; I see a therapist, too.”

I reach up, brushing away her tear that falls. The burn in the back of my throat becomes unbearable, and through blurred eyes, I slowly watch this strong woman fall apart.

“We’d all been through so much individually, and even though we’d also shared the same loss with your father’s passing, I couldn’t go to work and help look after others when I was struggling to look after myself.”

“Mom,” I whisper, fighting the internal anger and grief that rips through my chest—the ones her words have put there. Not because I’m mad with her, but because I’m mad with myself.

This is all because of me.

I should have been here.

From the very day Pop had deteriorated, I should have been here.

But like the coward I am, I fucking ran.

As if she can read my thoughts, her hand presses against my cheek. “I’m better now, son. I’m better than I’ve ever been. And now you’re home, it’s all that matters.”

“If I had just reached out. If I’d have just come home when Pop—”

“Don’t.” She grips my jaw harder. “Don’t you go there, Asher. You were in a dark place of your own, and as much as it hurt that you were not here, I understand that now.”

A single tear slips down my cheek as regret roars through me like never before. “But I should have been here. I should have been here for all of you.”

“You’re here now. That’s all we need to focus on.”

“This is all because of me…” I whisper, the words getting stuck in my throat.

“No. Don’t you do that. Don’t you take the blame for something you couldn’t control. This is not all on you. I lost the love of my life. My best friend. The father of my beautiful children. Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

But how can I not? Regardless of what happened with Pop, I’ve brought so much stress and trouble to her door. I hadn’t been there for her—I hadn’t been there for anyone—and where I should have stood up and been the man of the house in the absence of my dad, I had been off drinking my fucking life away as he lost his.

Mom might not believe this is my fault, but I do. And what hurts more than ever is that I’ve not just ruined Nora’s life, I’ve destroyed Mom’s too because of my selflessness and stupidity.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whisper through my tears because I can’t fight this feeling inside me anymore. Like I used to do as a little boy, I lower my head to her lap and hug her waist, finally letting out the anguish I’ve carried since I woke this morning.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Everything is going to be okay, Asher. I promise.”

But is it? If I hadn’t been the monster I was, Mom would never have fallen into the dark world of depression. She loved her job as a nurse at the children’s hospital of Kings’ Daughters.

Even now, the cracks in our family unit are still visible, and it all comes down to the very thing that caused them to form.

Me.

CHAPTER THREE

Asher

The trepidation, the guilt and the confessions both Mom and I have shared in this short space of time have been overwhelming. I hadn’t known what to expect when I arrived, but it certainly hadn’t been what I’ve received so far. It’s been a mixed bag. I know it was never Mom’s intention to weigh my shoulders down with more sorrow and remorse, but that’s how I feel our conversation has been left. And that damn fucking devil remains.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…