Chapter 9 In the name of forgiveness

Amelia's POV

Present day*********

The quiet hum of the kettle was the only sound filling my small, modest kitchen. The smell of brewing chamomile tea mingled with the faint scent of lavender from the candles I had lit earlier. My son, Mark, was fast asleep in the next room, his soft snores a soothing reminder of why I had fought so hard to rebuild my life.

Six years had passed since I escaped Richard, and though the bruises on my body had long healed, the scars on my soul remained. I had created a new life here in this small town, away from the ghosts of my past.

But on nights like this, when the house was too quiet, my mind wandered back to that time. To the fear. The desperation. The darkness.

I shook my head and poured myself a cup of tea, trying to push the memories away. Life was different now. I had survived. I had built a sanctuary for myself and Mark, one Richard could never touch.

As I sank into the worn armchair in the living room, a sharp knock on the door shattered the tranquility. My heart jumped, the old instincts kicking in. Fear prickled the back of my neck as I placed my tea on the table and stood cautiously.

Knocks on my door were rare. I didn't have many visitors, and I had made it a point to keep my circle small.

Another knock.

I hesitated, my pulse quickening. "Who is it?" I called out, my voice steadier than I felt.

No answer.

Swallowing hard, I approached the door, gripping the edge of the table for support. I peered through the peephole, and my breath caught.

It couldn't be.

I swung the door open, and there she was-Margaret.

Her face had aged, lines of regret etched deeply into her features. Her once meticulously styled hair was streaked with gray, tied back into a loose ponytail. She stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, as though she were holding herself together.

"Amelia," she said, her voice trembling. "Please. Don't shut the door."

For a moment, I couldn't speak. I hadn't seen Margaret since the night I left Richard. She had been his accomplice, his enabler, and in many ways, his shield.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

I finally managed, my voice cold.

"I... I needed to see you," she said, her eyes darting to the floor. "I needed to apologize."

Apologize?

I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat, bitter and sharp. Margaret was the last person I expected to show up on my doorstep, let alone to ask for forgiveness.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about," I said, my hand tightening on the doorframe.

"Please, Amelia," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I've carried this guilt for six years. I... I need to make things right."

I hesitated, torn between slamming the door in her face and letting her speak. Against my better judgment, I stepped aside.

"Make it quick," I said, gesturing for her to come in.

Margaret stepped inside, her movements tentative, like she was afraid I might change my mind. She glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the pictures of Mark on the wall.

"You've made a beautiful home," she said softly.

"Say what you came to say," I replied, my arms crossed.

Margaret turned to face me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Amelia, I was wrong. I knew what Richard was doing to you. I saw the bruises, the fear in your eyes. And I did nothing. I told myself it wasn't my place, that it wasn't my business. But I was a coward."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"I thought if I stayed out of it, I'd be safe," she continued, her voice trembling. "But I wasn't. Richard's temper turned on me after you left. He blamed me for your escape, said I was too soft on you. He... he nearly killed me."

I stared at her, my emotions a whirlwind. Part of me wanted to scream at her, to tell her that her pain couldn't compare to what I had endured. But another part of me-the part that had spent years trying to heal-felt a flicker of something I couldn't quite name. Pity? Understanding? Whatever it was, it made me pause, the sharp words I wanted to hurl at her dying on my lips.

"Why now?" I asked finally, my voice flat. "It's been six years. Why are you here now, Margaret?"

She wrung her hands, her eyes darting to the floor again. "I-I've spent years trying to come to terms with what I allowed to happen. I wanted to reach out to you, but I didn't know where you were. I've been searching, Amelia. And now that I've found you, I just..." Her voice broke, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I needed to see you. To ask for your forgiveness."

My chest tightened. Forgiveness? The word felt foreign, almost laughable. This woman had watched as I was beaten, humiliated, and broken. She had sided with Richard, choosing to protect her own comfort over my safety.

And now she wanted forgiveness?

"Do you know what I went through because of you?" I asked, my voice rising with anger. "Do you know what it's like to feel trapped, to know that the one person who's supposed to protect you is handing you over to a monster?"

"I do," Margaret whispered, her voice trembling. "I know now. After you left, I lived it. Richard's rage didn't stop with you, Amelia. He turned it on me. He-" She stopped, her voice catching.

"What? He hit you?" I demanded.

Her silence was enough.

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of her quiet sobs.

"Amelia," she said finally, looking up at me. "I can't undo what I did. I can't take away the pain I caused you. But I'm here now, and I want to make things right."

I shook my head, my emotions warring within me. "You can't just show up here and expect everything to be okay, Margaret. It's not that simple."

"I know," she said quickly. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But please... if there's anything I can do, anything at all, let me help you now."

I stared at her, my mind racing. Could I trust her? Did I even want to?

Before I could respond, the sound of Mark's voice broke the tense silence.

"Mummy?"

I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his small frame bathed in the warm light of the room. His sleepy eyes blinked at Margaret, curiosity flickering across his face.

"Who's that?" he asked, clutching the stuffed bear he never slept without.

Margaret's gaze shifted to him, and something in her expression softened. "Is this.....my grandson?" she asked hesitantly, her voice filled with awe and sadness.

I stepped in front of Mark protectively. "You don't get to ask about him," I said sharply.

Margaret flinched but nodded, stepping back. "Of course. I understand."

Mark tugged on my hand. "Mummy, can I have some water?"

"Go back to bed, sweetheart," I said gently. "I'll bring it to you in a moment."

He nodded and padded back to his room, leaving Margaret and me alone again.

"Amelia," Margaret said softly, her voice pleading. "Please. I know I failed you. I know I hurt you. But let me help you now. I want to be a part of your life. A part of his life."

Her words struck a nerve, and a cold anger surged through me. "You don't get to decide that," I snapped. "You didn't care about my life when I needed you. You don't get to show up now and act like you've changed."

Tears streamed down her face, but I felt no sympathy.

"You think you can waltz in here and erase the past? That's not how this works," I continued, my voice shaking with rage. "You chose Richard over me. You let me suffer, and now you want forgiveness? For what? To ease your guilt?"

Margaret's face crumpled, and she sank into the nearest chair. "You're right," she whispered. "I have no right to ask for forgiveness. But I'll do whatever it takes to prove I'm sorry."

I stared at her, my heart pounding. Part of me wanted to throw her out, to slam the door and never see her again. But another part of me-the part that had longed for a mother's love, even after everything-hesitated.

The sound of a car pulling up outside broke the tense silence. I turned toward the window, my stomach dropping as headlights illuminated the room.

"Are you expecting someone?" Margaret asked, her voice laced with unease.

"No," I said, my heart racing.

The car door slammed, and heavy footsteps approached the house.

Panic gripped me as I moved toward the window, peeking through the curtains. My breath caught when I saw the figure standing at the edge of the porch.

It wasn't Richard.

But it was someone I hadn't seen in years.

Someone I thought I had escaped.

Margaret's eyes widened as she saw the color drain from my face. "Who is it, Amelia?"

I stepped back from the window, my mind racing.

"I don't know," I lied, my voice trembling.

The knock on the door was loud and insistent, echoing through the room like a warning.

Whoever it was, they weren't leaving.