I took a seat on one of the old red chairs in the back row, seconds before the kids got on stage. They looked adorable, even the twins, who managed to look only slightly comical. Bella searched the crowd, until her eyes fell on me, smile painting her face and hand twitching as if tempted to wave. I spotted mom standing near the front, encouraging them along with the rest of the Church committee. She seemed like her regular self; it was no wonder that no one else had noticed her tumbling into despair; relying on the one thing that rid her mind of all concerns. The one thing that clouded her mind and eradicated feelings.

     The play went on as it usually did. The same lines were said, and same costumes worn. Bella recited her lines perfectly, and the twins surprisingly behaved. Though a little energetic and grimacing at each other in their own made-up form of communication, they played their animal roles well and didn't cause a scene. From the cautious glances they shot Bella before the opening scene, I suspected that some form of bribery had occurred between the three.

     Though I only saw them from far, I counted myself lucky to see them at all. Fortunate to have time off from work, but unfortunate for me, my mother had been home more often, and I had had to visit less often. The small wave and mouthing of Merry Christmas from my siblings, would have to appease my satisfaction. It was the best I could do, and it would have to be enough.

     I took my exit shortly after the applause. I had no intention of staying for the midnight Lunch, as it would give me no chance to hide. Though I knew I couldn't attend my usual ceremonies for multiple reasons, the brief fifteen-minute play wasn't nearly long enough. I wasn't ready to leave. When I was young, we'd spend hours on the church grounds, playing until we tired, until our parents practically had to carry us back to the van. I had been doing most of the carrying these past five years. Though my arms used to ache from the weight of one of the twins, the ache of empty arms today was greater.

     First, our Christmas celebrations had turned upside down from my father's departure, and now I had lost my mother, and by extension lost a part of the role I could play in my siblings' lives. The first Christmas without my father had been difficult. I remembered sitting on the same bench I sat on now, watching the happy, complete families with a pang of jealousy, until mom rushed me inside to see the twins take their first steps. No one would come to my rescue and pull me away from my misery, today. Before my level of anguish reached record high levels, I rose to my feet and headed towards the boardwalk behind the Church.

     My walk down memory lane was not as comforting as people made it out to be. In fact, its effect was the complete opposite of comfort. All the emotions of anger, sadness and frustration from the past years and months resurfaced in a sudden and overwhelming manner. Even if I had somewhat come to terms with the Terpilih thing, the situation wasn't any more enjoyable, and no matter how much I loved and understood her reasoning, I was not ok with what my mother had said and done. And I doubted the anger I held towards my father would ever fully fade. I wasn't looking for pity. I knew my life could be much worse. But it was Christmas, I was alone, and I had just accidentally done something that went against all my morals. I was entitled to a moment of weakness, a moment to give into pent-up emotions. It wasn't often that I fully gave into the thoughts swirling my mind, but tonight added to everything else was too much. I broke down. Releasing a quiet mixture of a growl and scream, I kicked the old, rusty bench next to the willow tree. The metal seat bent, altered into an arch, it was rendered useless for future sitters.

     I thought ruining the bench that I had spent hours sat on with my parents, would make me feel better, but it did nothing but result in pain. The pain sparking from my infected foot, shot up into my leg and up to my hip. The slight sound of stretching and the sharp ache, could only lead me to believe that the poorly executed stitches in my foot had come undone. Heat filled my shoe, and I knew that the cut had reopened.

      Sitting area destroyed, I fell to the cold ground, removing my shoe to inspect the damage. I huffed in defeat, letting myself fully fall backwards, into the dew filled December grass. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I finally let the tears, tears that I had pushed away for months, flow freely. My foot was in fact bleeding, but not heavily. And though it was still an awful colour, it didn't bother me much. I was most upset with the fact that I couldn't even resent my messed-up life without further messing it up. The outcome of everything I attempted seemed to be the opposite of my desires. I tried to fix my relationship with my mother, only to end up forever ruining it. I promised myself that I wouldn't fight as Mimpi wished me too and ended up almost dying on three different occasions. And tonight, I tried to complete my unwanted responsibilities, went against my own interest, only to become the reason a man now laid lifeless at the bottom of Gorge Lake. I couldn't get his defeated yet equally stubborn expression as he fell, out of my mind. He had preferred to die than accept my help.

      Laying on the cold ground, I tried to think about anything other than the man, my family life and the Terpilih death sentence. I willed my thoughts to the prickly feeling of the grass beneath me, and the cold wind sparking goosebumps on my pale skin.

     It took a few minutes of breathing in the fresh air, of listening to the soft sound of the wind rustling through trees for my body to finally stop trembling. Composure slightly recuperated, I sat up and wrapped my arms around my legs. Just as soon as I found peace, the faint sound of falling breaths caught my attention. Without turning, I knew someone was approximately twenty feet behind me. And I'm not sure how, but I knew it was her. The still figure watching me was no doubt my mother. Something about her presence and the pattern of her breathing had led to my suspicions, but the sudden whiff of amber rose perfume had confirmed any doubts. I also doubted that anyone else would waste their Christmas Eve watching me cry... I mean Andrews probably would, but I was fairly certain that at this point he had lost the ability to stand.

    "Enjoying the view?" I asked sharply, voice still wobbly.

    It took her a few moments to respond, and she only did so after I heard the shuffling of her feet. I assumed she had stepped aside from the tree she had been hiding behind, stubbornly accepting that she had been caught. She had no doubt considered pretending she was never here.

      "Happy to see that I've been punished for my sins?" I added, chuckling wryly.

      "Of course, I'm not happy," she answered after a stretched silence. Her voice was soft and barely audible, as though speaking physically harmed her. "I do not find joy in watching you cry, Clara."

     I could tell by her tone that she meant what she said, and though she seemed near tears, I couldn't help but be angry.

     "Clara?" I feigned confusion. "I thought that was your daughter's name."

     Laine sighed noisily, and I didn't need to turn to know that she was shaking her head.

    "I—" she started, taking another pause as she struggled to find suitable words. "No daughter of mine would do as you've done, but... I am still you mother, and I cannot simply stop caring for you." If she wasn't already crying, I knew for sure her eyes would at least be damped, but I would show her no sign of pity. I kept my gaze fixed ahead of me.

     "And you also cannot simply forgive me?" I guessed, mocking her tone.

     "No, Clara. I cannot forgive such damnable actions."

     "You don't even have a clue what's going on," I argued, voice rising and cracking as tears of frustration replenished my eyes. God, she was infuriating.

     "I don't need to know the details. I have seen enough to gather that what you are doing is wrong... unforgivable."

     "You know nothing about it!" I cut her off sharply, finally turning to face her, unbothered by the fact that she would see my tears. "I shouldn't need to be forgiven, mom." I met her glistening, olive green eyes. "I haven't even done anything; something was done to me. Something I wanted nothing to do with, refused to participate in. It was forced on me and there's nothing I can do about it." I paused, believing my voice would fail me if I continued. I gave her the opportunity to respond, waited for her to take it. When it was made clear that she wouldn't, I took advantage of her silence. "Nothing has ever frightened me as much as this... I have never felt this much fear, worry or doubt in myself. I feel as though I've been losing my mind trying to deal with this on my own and snapping at anyone who has offered me help.

      "I've been trying so hard to figure out why I've been so angry and standoffish with Andrews, when he's been nothing but kind. And I finally understand... As much as I appreciate and care for him, he is not the one person above all others that I trusted, that I relied on. He's not the person I entrusted to care and love me unconditionally, to always believe in me, protect and help me face my deepest challenges. The one person I did want, abandoned me, did what had crushed me so many years before... You failed me in every way possible." I croaked; last word mangled by my attempt to swallow a sob.

    "I don't pretend to be a perfect woman. And I'm not afraid to admit that there is nothing I could have done to help you."

     "How would you know?" I barked. "You never even tried."

    "You said it yourself that there was no way out of it!"

     "And that's supposed to validate your right to give up on me?"

     "What would you have had me done?" she demanded.

     "I don't know," I answered truthfully, interrupted by her incredulous laugh. "Your presence would have sufficed." I was quick to end her mockery. "All I ever wanted was your support."

    "You need to understand that I could never support such a thing," she said. "I couldn't let you stay in that house."

     I understood that she wanted to protect the kids but there would never be a need to protect them from me. All she had accomplished was bring them pain. She was so adamant on my wrongdoing, whilst knowing nothing of my situation. It was probably stupid. Mimpi would not approve. But I hinted at the truth, hoping to pry even an inkling of remorse.

     "Have you been watching the news lately?" I asked, voice considerably calmer.

     "No." Brows in a frown and cheeks still wet, she looked thoroughly confused by the question. "I haven't had time for television," she said, making it obvious in her tone that she was exhausted and referring to her four other troublesome kids.

     "I'm not going to pretend to feel bad about the trouble the kids are causing you, when you know I could have easily been there to help you through it."

     "I'm not looking for your pity—"

     "Maybe you'd have more time for television if you didn't spend so many nights out of the house. Spending hours doing something that we both know first handily is destructive to your health and relationships," I cut her off.

     "I am a hardworking, single mother. I deserve time off, Clara."

      "I'm not disagreeing with that, but I don't approve of your choice of activity during this deserved time off. Especially considering your past." I understood that her addiction was an illness, and I could sympathize with that, but she should have sought help the moment she found herself in dangerous water. She was willing to give me up to protect her children, but she wasn't ready to even consider giving up the alcohol.

     "I don't need your approval," she contended. "You wouldn't understand... And what I do in my spare time is none of your business."

     "We may not live together anymore, but as you said, you are still my mother and I whether I like it or not, I still care for you. How do you expect me not to be concerned?"

     She didn't answer. She shook her head and searched the trees for an answer. When it took her too long to find one, I continued.

     "As much as I don't want you going down this path, I could accept your decision, if not for the kids. You're not just ruining your life; you're disturbing theirs. You are the only person responsible for their care, and may I remind you that that is due to your own doing... You can't do this again; it won't end like last time."

     "If you're referring to my drinking problem, I can assure you that you are making the wrong assumptions," she said in a tone so sincere that I was almost fooled. She'd have fooled anyone else, but I already had my proof, and she was deliberately avoiding my eyes.

     "I've always been a horrible liar, now I see where I get it from."

     "I'm not lying." The words were too quick, too defensive.

     "Please don't treat me like a fool. Did you expect me not to notice the excessive amount of perfume you're wearing? And are we really going to ignore the other night?"

     Eyes puffy and red, she glared at me stubbornly. Not yet ready to give in.

     I didn't relent. "Sure, you may have been so far gone that you don't remember your night, but I know you're smart enough to have put the pieces together in the morning."

     Her jaw clenched, remembering my unwanted presence in her home and likely embarrassed to have been caught at such a moment. "I had the situation under control," she maintained; tone meant to be assertive but ruined by uncertainty. "I didn't need your help."

     "Maybe you didn't," I agreed. "I'm sure you could have handled yourself just fine, but what about the kids?"

    "What about them?"

     "Seriously? I don't know what time you woke up at or in what condition you were at the time, but you were still asleep by the time the kids had to leave for school."

     Her facial expression remained the same, as though she still didn't see the problem. Or more so, she refused to see the problem.

     "They're kids." I reminded. "They need to be nurtured. They need help with breakfast and to get ready for the day. The twins wanted to go to school with their clothes on backwards and underwear on their heads because they thought it was funny."

     "Isaiah is twelve years old, he'll be turning thirteen in a few months,"

     "What's your point?" I interrupted; frustration rising. "Sure, he's capable of taking care of himself, but he shouldn't have to do everything alone. You are also capable of caring for him, but you've chosen not to do so. It isn't fair to him... And what about Bella and the twins?"

      She didn't seem to realize the question was rhetorical, for she immediately opened her mouth, prepared to make more excuses.

     "Don't." I stopped her; right hand raised. "Bella can't even reach the middle shelf of the pantry and like I said the twins can barely dress themselves. They can't take care of themselves, and Isaiah is much too young to handle the responsibility of caring for the three. He's just a child, don't let him grow up so quick. No twelve-year-old deserves to be put through so much pressure and responsibility." I turned back to face the water.

      "I'm doing my best."

     "You're not." I shook my head. "Please reconsider your choices. You need help, mom... Don't let them down as you did me." I made it clear in my tone that I didn't feel talking about it anymore. We were going in endless circles, there was no point in trying to make her understand.

     "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I can't apologize for what I've done," she whispered, shortly before I heard her feet shuffle in the grass as she walked away. I wanted to challenge her, as it wasn't that she couldn't apologize but rather that she didn't want to, but it would have been a waste of breath. So, I placed my chin on my knees and listened to her leave, returning my attention to the dark waves. I remained seated in the grass until enough time had passed to assure that mom was long gone, either already home or soon approaching it.

       Getting up with a groan from the aches of the fight, I slipped on my shoes and left the way I came. Eyes darting towards the last spot my mother stood reflexively, something in the grass sparkled from the lamp post's light. A small green container was left behind, seemingly placed on the ground intentionally. I recognized it as one of mom's homemade creams. I assumed this one was meant for infections, and the faintest smile materialised on my face despite our latest argument. I'm not sure how she knew I would need it; I suppose she may have noted the awful condition of my foot and just happened to have the container in her purse. It wasn't odd for the Molino kids' caretaker to carry a few basic first aid tools and medications.