I screwed up, Mom

Mom, it's me. I know you can't read this, not really. But maybe, just maybe, someone out there will understand. I need to say it, even if it's just into the void.

I messed up. I messed up big time. Remember how you always told me to be honest, to be a good person, to treat people the way I wanted to be treated? I didn't listen. Not all the time.

It was about… well, it was about Dad. After you got sick, things changed. I was young, I was scared, and I was so, so angry. Angry at you for getting sick, angry at Dad for not being able to fix it, angry at the world for being so unfair.

Dad tried, you know? He really did. He worked his butt off, trying to pay for all the treatments, trying to keep things normal for me. But he was hurting too. I saw it. I just didn't want to acknowledge it. It was easier to be angry.

Then Sarah came along. She was… nice. She was a friend of a friend, and she started coming over to help out. Bringing meals, running errands, just being there. And Dad… he seemed lighter when she was around. He smiled more. He laughed. For a while, it felt like things were almost okay again.

But then… well, you know. They started spending more time together. I'd come home from school and they'd be talking in the kitchen, laughing. Or I'd see them in the garden, just sitting together, holding hands sometimes when they thought I wasn't looking.

I hated it. I hated Sarah. I hated Dad. I hated that you were lying in bed, getting weaker, while they were… happy. Or at least, pretending to be.

I know now that it wasn't about happiness. It was about comfort. About finding someone to lean on when everything was falling apart. Dad was lonely, Mom. So incredibly lonely. And Sarah was there.

But I couldn't see that then. All I saw was betrayal. I saw my dad replacing you, forgetting you. And I couldn't stand it. So I did something… awful.

I started telling stories. Little things at first. Saying that Sarah was saying things about you, that she was complaining about having to help out. Spreading rumors, basically. I told Dad that Sarah was only interested in his money, that she was probably seeing other people.

I poisoned the well, Mom. I turned him against her. And it worked. He started pulling away from Sarah. He started being angry and suspicious. And she… she eventually stopped coming around.

He was miserable after that. He went back to being the sad, tired man he was before. And you… you never knew. You were too sick to notice any of it.

You died a few months later. And after the funeral, Dad and I… we just drifted apart. We never talked about Sarah. We never talked about anything, really. The anger and resentment were always there, simmering beneath the surface.

He died last year. A heart attack. I found him. And the whole time I was standing there, waiting for the ambulance, all I could think about was Sarah. About how I had ruined things for him, how I had stolen his chance at happiness.

I never told him I was sorry. I never told him I knew what I had done. I was too ashamed. Too afraid of what he would say.

And now… now it's too late. He's gone. And I'm left with this guilt, this heavy, suffocating guilt that I can't shake.

I know you always wanted us to be a family, Mom. A happy family. And I destroyed that. I destroyed it with my lies and my anger and my selfishness.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Maybe it's because you were always the one who understood me. The one who knew how to make things right. But you're not here anymore. And I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to forgive myself.

I just… I just hope that someday, somehow, you can understand. And maybe, just maybe, forgive me. Because I don't think I ever will.

I miss you, Mom. I miss you both.

Your son.