Chapter 50
“This isn’t on you. I made choices, and I should’ve considered the cost. You were supporting me, loving me, and I repaid that by disappearing into my work.”
“I maybe just as accountab,” she begins again.
“No,” I countered cutting in, my voice soft but insistent.
“You’re wrong, Leona. You remember that conversation? You asked me to cut back on hours, and I
argued with you, dismissing your concerns without even trying to understand your perspective. Her gaze drifted downward, her shoulders sagging as she leaned back into her chair, a sigh escaping her lips.
“I remember,” she whispered.
“I felt like I was losing you, like work had become your sole focus. But every time I brought it up, you’d assure me it was temporary, that it would get better soon. And I wanted to believe you, I really did.” Her eyes lifted, meeting mine, filled with this deep sadness I’ve left her with.
“That was our first biggest fight,” Leona uttered. The memory seemed to settle heavily on her, and I felt a pang of remorse as I realized the toll my actions had taken on her. She had been the rock, the steady presence, always mature, caring, thoughtful, and generous, while I had taken her love and support for granted, exploiting her kindness with my immaturity.
With these unfiltered conversations the full extent of my selfishness hits me deeper. I saw the sacrifices she had made, the patience she had shown, and the love she had continued to offer despite my flaws.
How utterly necessary it was for me to sit down and truly talk to Leona, to listen to her concerns and feelings, just as she had always asked me to. But I had kept brushing her off, dismissing her pleas for emotional connection and intimacy, all while chasing an elusive dream of success, using the excuse of providing financial security for my family.
I had been so blinded by my ambition, so focused on giving them the best life money could buy, that I had neglected the most precious things: their emotional and mental well–being. I had been wounding them, hurting them, and damaging our relationships, all under the guise of being a good provider.
The second weekend arrived swiftly, bringing with it a sense of renewed hope and tranquility. Something had shifted between Leona and me; the air was lighter, the tension eased. Willy’s progress had been a significant contributor to our improved mood she was now walking for several minutes with her crutches without feeling exhausted, her bright smile and determined spirit infectious.
As pa
parents, we were filled with pride and contentment, watching our little girl grow stronger every day. Our relationship was still healing, the scars of my past mistakes still tender, but for the first
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time in a long while, we felt like a family again healing but united, supportive, and grateful for the small joys.
After tucking Willy Into bed, we settled in for the next part of our conversation. Leona handed me a piece of paper, her eyes locked on mine, and I felt a lump form in my throat as I took it from her. The tears I’d been holding back began to fall as I read the words she’d written.
Reason Number Two. Suddenly, I was transported back to that fateful night, the night of Willy’s accident, the memories rushing back a nightmare you suddenly remember.
The sound of screeching tires whilst I drove to hospital like a madman, the smell of blood and bleach as we searched for our daughter, the feeling of helplessness as I rushed to the unconscious body of my daughter in the hospital bed… it all came flooding back. I looked up at Leona, staring at me with a peice of trust she had lent me and I knew I had to confront this, to face the pain I’d been trying to outrun.
“I don’t want to make it sound like I am making this about me but,” she hesitated as I shook my head in her favour.
“I want to hear it everything and anything you’ve to say,” I blurted out hurriedly.
“I remember seeing you cry that night, like you’d never cried before,” Leona began, her voice trembling. “I wanted to hold you, to share this pain together, but you snapped at me, told me to leave
alone.” Her words, taking back that night cut deep, and I struggled to meet her eyes being smashed under this mountain of guilt.
That horrific night still haunted me. I was supposed to take Willy to her football practice, but Leona’s grandfather had stepped in, saving my daughter’s life at the cost of his own. I’d forever be grateful to him, but the what–ifs still ravaged my mind. If only I’d been there, if only I hadn’t been working on that Saturday, maybe Willy wouldn’t have suffered such critical injuries. That memory always reminded me of my failure as a father.
Leona’s voice brought me back to the present. “You shut me out, and I felt so helpless. I wanted to support you, to be there for you, but you wouldn’t let me. You carried this guilt and pain alone, and it’s been eating away at you, at us, ever since.” Her eyes, brimming with tears, searched mine. “Why couldn’t you let me in? Why did you push me away?”
“I felt guilty,” I protested calmly, mindful of Willy sleeping just a room away.
Claws of my regret settled heavy, digging deep on my shoulders as I acknowledged the stinging truth. Guilt had consumed me, reminding me what I perceived as my failure to protect my daughter. It had become a burden I’d carried alone, afraid to share it with Leona, afraid of her judgment, afraid of losing her. But now, in this moment of raw vulnerability, I was forced to confront the pain I’d tried to keep hidden.
