The Heavy Truth
ARIANA’S POV
"I'm sorry, Ariana," she whispered. "I'm not your mother."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
I stared at her, blinking, as if somehow my ears had betrayed me. As if the wind had twisted her voice into something unrecognizable.
“What…?” My voice came out hoarse. “What did you just say?”
She looked down again, unable to meet my eyes. Her fingers clutched the fabric of my coat tighter, knuckles whitening. “I’m sorry.”
My heart started to pound. Loud. Erratic. Like it wanted to leap from my chest.
“No.” I shook my head, taking a step back from her grasp. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say things like that.”
She looked up at me, tears streaking down her face. Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, a chill skating down my spine. “If this is a joke—some kind of sick game—you need to stop. Right now.”
Her shoulders sagged.
She rose slowly from her knees, swaying a little as she stood. Her hand came up to wipe at her tears, but it was useless. They just kept coming, pouring from her eyes like a storm that had been waiting years to break.
“I didn’t want to be a part of it,” she said brokenly. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped, my voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Garry started everything,” she whispered. “He… he made me promise.”
The name landed like another blow.
Uncle Garry.
My blood turned to ice.
“What does uncle Garry have to do with anything?”
“I can’t—” she choked, turning toward the grave like she was seeking forgiveness from the dead. “I was just trying to protect you. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I felt my legs start to shake.
The wind picked up through the trees, hissing like a whisper of all the things I didn’t want to know. My lungs burned. My brain screamed for sense.
“I don’t understand,” I said again, pleading. “Mom, is someone threatening you? Is this Garry’s doing? Just tell me—tell me what’s going on!”
She didn’t answer.
I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, the pulse deafening. My fingers were numb. My skin tingled.
I stepped closer. “Mom, please. You’re scaring me.”
She opened her mouth—and then she let out a sob that cut through me like a knife.
“No one’s threatening me.”
“Then tell me what the hell is going on!” I shouted, the words bursting out of me, louder than I intended. My voice echoed against the trees, raw and cracking at the edges.
She flinched, but she didn’t cower. She looked me in the eye now, and it was almost worse than the tears. Because what I saw in her gaze wasn’t fear.
It was guilt.
Deep. Immovable. Agonizing guilt.
“It started five years ago,” she whispered.
And that’s when the ground shifted under my feet.
The sky felt too low.
The shadows too dark.
I didn’t even realize I’d stopped breathing.
Five years ago.
I tried to make sense of it, but nothing connected. Nothing made sense.
Five years ago… what had happened five years ago?
My father had still been alive.
Everything had seemed normal.
Hadn’t it?
“What do you mean?” I asked, the question a croak in my throat. “What started five years ago?”
She swallowed hard, wiping her face with shaking hands. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it!” I snapped, my voice breaking into a sob halfway through.
She looked at me like she was staring at something fragile—something that might shatter beyond repair with one wrong word.
“I promised I’d never tell you. I swore I’d take it to my grave. But I can’t carry it anymore. I can’t.”
“Then just tell me what happened?!"
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