Chapter 2: After the Papers Are Signed

My mom came home alone. As soon as she walked in, she collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, unable even to stand. Her cries cut through the house like a siren.

Her cries echoed through the empty house, raw and broken. I rushed to her side, heart pounding, not sure how to put her back together. It felt like trying to catch water in my hands.

After a divorce, it’s often the woman who struggles the most with the pain and memories. That’s what people say, but seeing it up close is something else entirely.

It’s like the world expects her to just move on, but the ghosts linger in every corner. The silence after the storm is the hardest part. It presses in from all sides.

I quickly helped my mom to the couch and tried to comfort her. Watching her cry her heart out, tears welled up in my own eyes. I felt so helpless.

I handed her tissues, held her hand, murmured words that felt small and useless. But I stayed, because sometimes that’s all you can do. Just be there, even if you can’t fix it.

My mom’s life had been so hard.

She’d weathered storms most people couldn’t imagine. Looking at her now, I realized just how much she’d carried on her own. The weight was written in every line on her face.

Not long after getting married, both my maternal grandparents passed away. Aside from one sister with her own family, my mom had no one left on her side. With her parents gone, she had no home to go back to. She was truly alone.

She told me once how lonely those years were, how every holiday felt like a reminder of what she’d lost. There were no big family gatherings, no place to run when things got tough. Just her and the silence.

My dad’s parents were quick to take advantage. Seeing my mom had no family support, they immediately changed their attitude toward her. They smelled weakness and pounced.

They went from polite to petty overnight, picking at every little thing she did. She was alone in a house that never felt like hers, surrounded by people who saw her as an outsider. It must have been suffocating.

She once told me that the night my grandpa died, my dad’s parents tricked her into giving back the few hundred bucks she’d gotten as a wedding gift. She cried all night, and my dad didn’t say a single word in her defense.

He sat in the next room, pretending not to hear her sobs. That was the night she realized she was on her own. It still makes me sick to think about it.

Later, when she got pregnant with me, expenses at home went up, but my grandparents never helped. My dad was even lazier, refusing to work at all. He just let her struggle.

She took odd jobs—cleaning houses, waiting tables, anything to keep food on the table. My dad just watched TV, complaining about the noise. He never lifted a finger.

Even before she’d recovered from childbirth, my mom had to go out and earn money for my formula. Now, even in her fifties, she’s got the back of a seventy-year-old. Every time it rains, her back pain is unbearable. That was lasting damage from those postpartum weeks.

She’d wince when she bent down, but never complained. I’d see her rubbing her lower back, gritting her teeth, pretending everything was fine. That pain was her constant companion, always lurking in the background.

When I was six, I got pneumonia and was at death’s door. My family borrowed from everyone but still couldn’t scrape together enough for the hospital. The day I was admitted, my dad was out playing poker at the bar.

My mom spent the night pacing the hospital hallway, hands clasped in prayer, while my dad threw back shots and laughed with his buddies. I don’t remember much, but I know she never left my side. She was always there.

My mom crushed a finger working on a construction site and had it amputated. The company paid her ten grand in compensation. That’s the money that saved my life. She never let me forget it.

She never talked about it, but I saw the way she hid her hand in photos, the way she flinched when people stared. That missing finger was the price she paid for me. I could never repay her.

So every time I see my mom’s missing finger, it’s like a knife twisting in my heart. The guilt is always there, sharp and fresh.

I’d trace the scar with my eyes, wishing I could go back and change things. But all I could do was hold her hand, careful not to squeeze too tight. I just wanted to make it better.

“Mom, let’s sell the house and move,” I said softly.

I tried to sound hopeful, like this was a new beginning, not just an escape. But even I could hear the tremor in my voice, the uncertainty I couldn’t hide.

She wiped her tears and looked at me with hurt. “Son, do you really want to be a kid from a single-parent family?”

Her words hit me harder than any slap. There was so much pain in her eyes, so much disappointment. I wanted to argue, but the words stuck in my throat. I felt like a traitor.

Her question hit me like a punch to the chest—I could barely breathe. My lungs burned, my heart hammered. I didn’t know what to say.

I felt like I was drowning, guilt pressing down on me. I wanted to explain, to make her understand, but I didn’t even know where to start. The words just wouldn’t come.

“Mom, let me explain…”

I reached for her hand, but she pulled away, eyes shining with fresh tears. The distance between us felt like a canyon—wide and impossible to cross.

She raised a hand to stop me. “You’ll regret what you did today.”

Her voice was flat, final. It was like she’d closed a door I didn’t even know was open. I felt the lock click shut.

“Your dad might not be perfect, but at least he’s your father. When things go wrong, he can still help you.”

She looked at me like I was still a little kid, someone who didn’t understand how the world worked. It hurt more than I expected, like I’d failed her in some fundamental way.

“But today… you really let me down.”

She turned away, shoulders shaking. I wanted to run after her, to beg for forgiveness, but I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, helpless.

With that, she shakily went back to her room.

I watched her disappear down the hallway, the sound of her door closing echoing in my ears. I felt more alone than ever. The house felt colder.

The words I wanted to say stuck in my throat.

I stood there, silent, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Regret tasted bitter in my mouth. My heart ached.