The wind howled outside and rain lashed furiously against the window. The air was charged with tension. 

 "But you're my mother," the younger woman hissed. Her face twisted, torn between betrayal and fury. Though barely above a whisper, her words struck with the force of a slap, cutting through the tense silence. "How could you do this?" she asked. Pent up anger and heartbreak clung to every syllable, raw and unrelenting. What had she actually expected from her mother? Nothing! And once again, that’s exactly what she’d gotten.

The two women glared at each other, eyes locked in a fierce standoff, each unwilling to surrender. The lines were drawn and neither were willing to give in an inch.

"It’s the very least you could do," the young woman pressed, but her voice faltered and her bravado cracked under the weight of her emotions, the last words breaking apart like glass. She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She looked down and blinked them away. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she fought to steady her breath. She wouldn’t never let this woman, her mother, know how much she has truly hurt her.  

Mothers were supposed to protect their child and do anything to make them happy. This conversation wasn’t just proof to the contrary; it was a searing reminder to reinforce what she’d always known — blood wasn’t thicker than water. 

The older woman’s face hardened, lines of anger and grief etched deep into her expression. She turned abruptly away from the younger woman, her entire frame trembling with a mixture of frustration and sadness. Her gaze shifted to the rain-streaked window as if searching for an escape into the dark night. The wind screamed and the rain pounded like the echoes of their unspoken words.

It was late. She was tired. It had been a long day. She had to end this conversation, now, she thought, exhaustion seeping through her like the dim light creeping around them. She shouldn’t have let it get this far. She should have put a stop to it the second she found out. But she was trying to be a good mother. But that hadn’t worked out. It had only made the situation worse.

Children often disappoint. People think a mother’s love isn’t unconditional. There were limits, she thought bitterly.

The young woman took a step back, her face a mask that barely concealed the storm brewing beneath. Her voice erupted, loud and raw, shattering the silence. "So, this is it?" The accusation sliced through the room, sharp and deliberate, each word cutting with precision. She wanted to hurt the older woman, to pierce that cold and impenetrable armor. She wanted her mother to feel every second of the pain she’d caused.

Her feet moved of their own accord, propelling her toward the door. She paused with her hand on the handle and flung one last, vicious glance over her shoulder. "You'll pay for this. I swear you will."

The words hung in the air like a curse, each sharp and deliberate, laced with venom. Within her mind, a plan was already forming. A maniacal grin twisted her lips and an uncontrolled rage blazed in her eyes. She didn't wait for a response. She opened the door and stepped into the fury of the storm. She knew what had to be done!

The older woman didn’t turn from the window. She stood frozen, watching cold raindrops raced down the glass, merging and breaking apart like their relationship. A part of her wanted to shout out… she should have told the younger woman to drive carefully. The slick roads, wet leaves, and pounding rain were a treacherous combination.

But the words stay lodged in her throat. What was the point? She couldn’t play the role the younger woman wanted. She couldn’t be what the younger woman wanted, the doting mother. It was too late for that.

They had gone through too much to go back. 

Now, they would both have to deal with the consequences.