I looked up sadly at my mother, who was on the verge of tears.
“I’m going to leave now,” I said, looking back at my father. “I’m going to walk away from you, and I won’t ever think of you again.” I turned to leave. I truly was disheartened by how this meeting had gone. I had wanted to rebuild my relationship with my parents, but if my father’s first reaction to seeing me was to attack me, there was little hope of that.
“Naomi, wait,” my mother called as I reached the door. I stopped in my tracks and turned around slowly. “Did you mean it? About making peace with us?” There was anguish in her voice, and her eyes were shining with fresh tears.
“I was,” responded bleakly.
“Please don’t leave,” she implored as she stepped toward me.
“Don’t beg her, Prisha!” my father barked. “She’s an embarrassment to our family. You don’t have to lower yourself to her level.”
“Shut up, Jai!” my mother screamed at him. “Just shut your mouth! Ten years! It’s been ten years since I’ve seen my precious child, all because I was too weak and stupid and selfish to understand how she was suffering! And now she’s here trying to come back to us, and you’re pushing her away again! Just shut up!”
She was breathing heavily by the end of her tirade. Her face was red, and I’d never seen my mother scream like that. I’d seen her angry before, more times than I cared to remember, but never like this. And she’d certainly never defied my father before.
“How dare you,” he gasped. I rolled my eyes. I was really tired of hearing him utter that phrase as if he was a king who couldn’t possibly be defied by two mere women. “You’re just as bad as she is. It’s no wonder she ended up like she did, with a mother like you!”
He rushed toward my mother as if to hit her, and I stepped between them without thinking. I crouched down and used his own momentum to flip him over and onto the ground.
“Don’t touch her,” I sneered. He was rolling around on the ground pathetically, whining about how much his back and head hurt. “Why don’t we go speak outside, Mother?”
I turned sharply and left the house. Once we were in the front yard, I turned to look at my mother. She looked smaller than I remembered, frailer and hunched over. I supposed when I disappeared, and my father no longer had someone to control like a puppet, he must have turned his attention to my mother.
I felt sympathy for her, and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t happy that she’d defended me against my father, but I wasn’t ready to forgive everything just like that. We stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before she finally spoke.
“So what have you been up to?” she asked nervously. “It’s been so long. Have you been in the United States this whole time?”
“No,” I replied. “I lived in India for a little while. I was a consulate there for the US Embassy.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“That’s amazing, Naomi,” she smiled. “So, you’re a politician now?”
“Not anymore,” I shook my head. “I became a federal agent about a year ago. The agency I’m with investigates international crimes.”
“That sounds exciting,” she replied. “Is that why you’re here in Bermuda?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “We were working a child trafficking case. Children were being taken against their will and sold off in the United States.”
My mother’s face fell at my words, no doubt recalling the last time we’d been together.
“Are the children alright?” she inquired meekly.
“Physically, I suppose,” I shrugged. “I don’t believe any of the children we recovered sustained any serious injuries. However, it’s hard to say concretely what extent of psychological or mental injury any of them might have to carry as a result of this incident. The entire reason we were made aware of the case at all was that one of the children snapped and murdered the people keeping her captive.” I probably shouldn’t have been sharing details of the case, but I couldn’t stop myself. For years I’d held everything in, hiding what had happened to me from everyone. It was liberating to be able to let everything out for once.
“Naomi, I’m so sorry,” my mother sniffled. “I can’t begin to explain how much I regret what happened that day. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, so I won’t ask you to. But maybe we could start over? I know it’s selfish of me to ask you that, but I’ve spent every day since thinking about what happened, and every day I feel more guilty and sorry about what I did.”
I wanted to tell her it was too late, that nothing she could do or say could make up for the scars that day had etched deep into my being. I wanted to scream and tell her she deserved to feel bad and that I hated her, and that I never wanted to see her again. At least, that’s what I’d thought I wanted to say when I first arrived. I’d been so angry for so long that I couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything aside from inflicting as much pain on her as she had on me.
So much for treating this like a suspect interrogation.
“Alright,” I responded curtly.
“What?” she gasped, looking back at me with wide eyes.
“I’m willing to start over,” I replied. “Did you mean it when you said that’s what you wanted?”
“Yes,” she replied hastily, wiping her eyes. “Yes, I did.”
“Good,” I smiled. “Though I have a feeling that you might have some trouble with Father if you do that. He didn’t seem particularly pleased about seeing me.”
“Don’t worry about him,” my mother replied. “I know how to handle him.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. The way he’d gone after
