My boyfriend left me when I was pregnant because his mother didn’t like me. I’ve raised my son alone for 17 years. Today, I ran into his mother. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’ve been looking for you all these years.”

An icy silence enveloped us. And, for the first time in many years, I felt my anger about to explode.

I don’t remember ever feeling so many emotions mixed together at once: anger, bewilderment, an unexpected pang of compassion, and, above all, that old wound I thought couldn’t possibly hurt anymore. She was trembling, trying to maintain her composure amidst the growing murmur of onlookers watching us from the market stalls. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want a scene. I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want anything from her.

“Explain yourself,” I finally said.

She took a deep breath, like someone preparing to exhume an unbearable memory.

“The day he left you…” she began, “it wasn’t just because of what I thought of you. It was because I pushed him until he broke. I told him you weren’t ready, that you… that maybe you wanted to take advantage of him. I said a lot of horrible things. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

I listened without blinking, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me. But every word she spoke felt like a finger pressing on a bruise that never fully healed.

“What else did you do?” I asked with a coldness I didn’t even recognize.

“I threatened him,” she whispered. “I told him that if he took responsibility for you and the baby, I would kill myself.”

I froze. Literally frozen. I hadn’t expected that. I expected rejection, contempt, manipulation. But that sentence was on another level. I didn’t know whether to believe her, whether she was exaggerating, whether she was trying to justify the unforgivable. But the way she said it… her face… that kind of shame can’t be faked.

She continued:

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