Tears filled my eyes.
But I still had one question.
“Then why do you sometimes get scared when Dad suddenly reaches toward you?”
Mom gave me a sad smile.
“After the fire, sudden movements and loud noises frightened me for years. Sometimes my body still reacts before my mind realizes that I’m safe.”
“And why did you always look at Dad whenever someone asked about your arms?”
This time, Dad answered.
“Because we had an agreement. If your mother didn’t want to answer, I would change the subject.”
That was when I finally understood how badly I had misunderstood everything I had seen.
The man I had silently blamed for my mother’s pain for months was actually the person who had stayed beside her during the hardest years of her life.
Mom stared at her uncovered arm for a long time.
Then she said quietly,
“You know what the saddest part is? I hid them for so long that eventually you started believing there had to be something shameful behind them.”
