"No, you had every right to be mad, Nate. I should have done more. You were just a little boy and⁠⁠—"

I reach over to grab her trembling hand. "Mom, I love you," I say, keeping my voice steady but gentle, even as my heart thunders against my ribs. “And I’m proud of you. It's a step forward. You did the right thing."

Her lips tremble, composure cracking like thin ice.

"I should've done it sooner," she whispers, voice splintering. "For you and Jake. For me. But I didn't, Nate. I didn't, and I'm so sorry. For all of it."

She drops her gaze to her trembling hands, and something shifts beneath my feet—like the ground I've been standing on isn't as solid as I thought. I lower my head so I’m at eye level with her. When she tries to look away, I take her hands in mine, holding them tight enough to stop their shaking.

“Stop," I say firmly, though my chest constricts with each word. "You did the best you could with what you had. You gave us everything you had to give."

Tears well in her eyes, and she opens her mouth to argue, but I press on, my voice softening like a wave reaching shore.

“You weren't a shitty wife. He was a shitty husband. That's on him—not you. You didn't deserve any of the things he put you through."

Her face crumples, and the tears come—quiet but heavy, like rain on windowpanes. I pull her into my arms, holding her as years of guilt and pain pour out. She clings to me, her sobs muffled against my shoulder. This shirt has absorbed more tears than a November rain, but I hold her tighter, becoming the shelter she's always tried to be for me.

The sobs gradually quiet, her breathing steadying though grief still hangs thick in the air. She pulls back slightly, wiping her tear-streaked face with unsteady hands.

"I waited so long because… I was scared, Nate," she confesses, voice barely above a whisper, fragile as moth wings. "I had nothing growing up—no one, until Kat. My biggest fear was losing the only thing that mattered to me. You and Jake. He threatened to take you both away, and I knew I couldn't fight him. You know him better than anyone. You've seen what he's capable of. I⁠⁠—"

"Mom, stop." Her words knock the air from my lungs, and I grip her shoulders, steadying us both. My jaw clenches, rage simmering beneath my skin at the thought of what that bastard put her through. "You didn't lose us. And you won't. Ever. Do you hear me?"

She nods, drawing a shaky breath that seems to rattle in her chest.

"I need to ask you something," she says after a moment, her eyes searching mine like she's trying to read a story written in water. "And I want you to be honest with me."