Chapter 5: The Wounds That Won’t Heal

After Carol finished speaking, she turned and left. No one could stop her.

She walked out with the same determination she’d walked in, heels clicking against the linoleum. People parted wordlessly, unsure whether to follow, comfort, or simply watch.

She appeared suddenly.

Like a storm sweeping in from nowhere, her presence lingered even after she was gone. The energy in the room had shifted, unsettled.

And disappeared just as suddenly.

I half-expected to see her at the door, but the only thing left was the faint trace of her perfume—lavender and something herbal—fading in the heat.

As if she had come just to say that one sentence.

Everyone looked at each other, then came to comfort me.

People clustered around, their words tumbling over each other. Some offered tissues, others just stood awkwardly, not sure what to say.

"Maddie’s mom, the old lady is probably just confused with grief. Don’t take it to heart. You can’t let yourself get worked up at a time like this."

A neighbor, Mrs. Whitaker, squeezed my shoulder, her tone gentle but urgent. I nodded, trying to believe her.

"Yeah, older folks from small towns sometimes don’t know all the details. She probably believed some rumors. Just talk it out later and it’ll be fine."

Someone else chimed in, their voice a mix of sympathy and mild annoyance. A few others murmured agreement, trying to brush the tension away.

"How come we’ve never seen Ben’s mother before? Now that he’s gone, she suddenly shows up. Is she here to fight for the child or the property?"

The rumor mill started up instantly, a current of suspicion running through the room. I felt my cheeks flush, a new worry worming its way into my thoughts.

"Not just never seen, never even heard of her. Maddie’s mom, the old lady just said she’d never met you. Are you sure she’s really Ben’s mother?"

The question hung in the air, daring me to answer. I couldn’t blame them—the secrecy, the distance, it all seemed strange now that Ben was gone.

I said nothing, feeling so weak I could barely stand.

My knees wobbled, and I leaned heavily against the wall. The tea cup in my hand trembled. I barely trusted myself to breathe, let alone speak.

The community board worker handed me a cup of hot tea.

She pressed it into my hands, her touch steady. The tea scalded my tongue, but the heat helped ground me in the moment.

"Alright, stop asking. The most important thing now is to get through the memorial and let Maddie’s mom rest. Everything else will get sorted out."

Her words were firm, a quiet command that stilled the gossip, at least for a moment. The crowd dispersed, reluctantly.

I lowered my head and took a few sips of hot tea, my mind slowly clearing.

The warmth chased some of the chill from my bones. I inhaled deeply, trying to settle the whirlwind of emotions and doubts swirling in my chest.

Yes.

Carol really is Ben’s biological mother.

Eight years ago, when I married Ben, I saw this mother-in-law for the first time in a video call.

Her face flickered on the laptop screen, the background all bookshelves and old maps. She was cordial but distant, her voice crisp, every word measured.

She divorced Ben’s father when Ben was fifteen, leaving everything behind to teach in Montana, and from then on mother and son were separated for years.

Ben never talked about it much, but sometimes, late at night, he’d mention her—how she’d taught in one-room schoolhouses, how she’d loved the silence of the mountains. Their relationship was complicated, full of old scars neither wanted to reopen.

After Ben’s father died and Ben became successful, he found her after much searching, wanting to bring her to live with him in her old age.

He tracked her down through old colleagues and alumni records. When he finally called her, he sounded like a nervous teenager, pacing the kitchen as he tried to convince her to visit.

She refused, saying that when she decided to go to the mountains, she swore never to leave that land.

She said the mountains were her penance, her refuge. I never really understood what she meant, but Ben respected it.

In recent years, Ben went alone to Montana to see her twice, and I only saw her briefly on video every year on Maddie’s birthday.

Each year, she’d sing Happy Birthday to Maddie in a quavery voice, her face softening just a little on the tiny screen. It was their only connection, fragile as spider silk.

At this moment, I was deeply confused and lost.

My thoughts spun in circles, questions outpacing answers. The old pain in Carol’s eyes haunted me. Why now? Why accuse me?

I didn’t understand why this woman who swore never to leave Montana suddenly rushed here from so far away?

Why did she suddenly say that to me?

In my grief, I couldn’t figure it out…

The world felt unsteady, every certainty replaced with doubt. All I could do was hold onto Maddie and hope that, eventually, something would make sense.

After the memorial, Carol did not leave the city.

She stayed.

Of course, she didn’t stay in my apartment, but in a small hotel near the train station.

Late at night, the bright moon hung high, looking down on the joys and sorrows of the world.

The moonlight spilled through my bedroom window, painting pale patterns on the carpet. I sat cross-legged on the floor, clutching Ben’s favorite flannel shirt, the one that still smelled faintly of him. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle echoed—a reminder that the world moved on, even when I couldn’t.

I sat alone, wiping away tears as I looked at Ben’s photo, and made a decision in my heart.

No matter why she came.

For the child.

For property.

Or because of some misunderstanding.

She is, after all, my husband’s mother and my child’s grandmother.

I can’t just ignore her.

Even if her words cut, I owed her a chance. For Ben’s sake, and Maddie’s. I made up my mind to reach out, to try to bridge the gap between us—no matter how impossible it seemed.