Chapter 14: Forgiveness

After my conversation with my mother, I step out of her office, the lingering warmth of the sunlight spilling into the hallway. I pull out my cellphone, my fingers brushing over its smooth surface as I dial Jasmine’s number, a mix of hope and apprehension swirling in my chest. As I press the phone to my ear, I take a deep, shaky breath, the anticipation hanging in the air like a fragile thread. The sound of her familiar voice breaks through the silence, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” she asked me as I could hear the faint noise of cars in the background. I could hear her faint breathing as she was waiting for me to continue talking, and I took a deep breath and remembered why I called her in the first place. Finding my voice again, I continue the conversation with Jasmine while making sure that my mother is not trying to listen to my phone conversation as I walk further down the hallway to be out of her earshot.

“Hey Jasmine, are you busy at the moment?” I asked her.

“No, I’m not busy,” she told me. When she told me that, I let out a breath of relief. I wasn’t sure why I expected her to say no or come up with an excuse, but I realized that it was just my self-doubt creeping in. I pushed those negative thoughts to the back of my mind and focused on the conversation I was having with Jasmine.

“Perfect, do you think you can come by my parents' house for a few minutes?” I said to her. While preparing to leave my parents' house, I walked down the stairs, took my car keys out of my pocket, and walked out of the house, heading to my car. As I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's side, and put the key in the ignition.

“Are you sure?” she said in a concerned voice. I placed the call on speakerphone, a small smile spreading across my face as I began to pull out of my parents' driveway, the familiar surroundings blurring into the background. The warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the pavement, while a gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers from the garden nearby.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, my tone steady and reassuring as I made sure my tone in my voice gave her hope to ease her lingering doubts, even though

“Okay, I will be over in like fifteen minutes,” she replied, a hint of relief washing over her voice as she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. I wrapped up my conversation with Jasmine and set off for a drive, seeking a brief escape before returning to my parents’ house to await her arrival. As I navigated the familiar streets of town, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts, not particularly yearning for anything in particular; I merely craved the solace that comes from the open road. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the gentle breeze through the window offered a welcome distraction, soothing my frayed nerves as I pondered the impending dialogue between my mother and Jasmine.

After meandering through the quiet lanes for about ten minutes, I felt an urge to turn back. I made my way back to my parents' home, the driveway emerging into view through the bends and turns. As I pulled in, the familiar sight of their house, with its neat garden and welcoming atmosphere, brought an unexpected sense of comfort amidst the swirling uncertainty of the day.

I sat anxiously in the cozy living room, the air thick with anticipation as I awaited Jasmine's arrival at my parents' house. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, and after what felt like an eternity, a gentle knock echoed from the front door, breaking the silence. I rose from the plush couch, my heart racing, and made my way over to the door, hoping to greet her with a warm smile. As I swung the door open, a rush of cool air greeted me, and there stood Jasmine, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I beckoned her inside and led her through the familiar hallway to the inviting kitchen, the delicious aroma of my mother’s cooking wafting in from the other room, making my stomach growl in response. As we settled in, I could sense the looming presence of my mother, who would soon join us, eager to welcome Jasmine into our home. Jasmine waits in the kitchen until we see my mother walk in. She spots Jasmine by the counter with a glass of water in her hand. Jasmine looks up when she hears my mother's footsteps, her posture instinctively tightening. My mother notices-it’s impossible not to-, and she hesitates before stepping closer.

“Jasmine,” she says softly. I sit quietly, observing as my mother initiates the conversation, her tone warm yet slightly apprehensive. I watch the subtle shifts in her expressions as she engages with them, noting how her hands fidget slightly in her lap—a telltale sign of her nerves. The atmosphere is charged with unspoken tension, and I'm acutely aware of the delicate balance in their interaction. I hope the conversation unfolds smoothly; however, if things take a turn for the worse, I am ready to step in and mediate the situation. I just want to ensure that it doesn’t come to that.

Jasmine straightens, polite but guarded. “Yes, ma’am?”

My mother winces at the formality. “Please…call me Margaret.”

Jasmine nods, though she doesn’t say my mother’s name aloud. Given Jasmine's upbringing, I understand that she may not feel comfortable calling my mother by her first name just yet. I have to give my mother some credit for trying to make Jasmine feel more at ease around her, although I’m not sure if that was the best approach for this conversation. I’m not here to judge; I just hope it helps them find some common ground. There’s a beat of silence before my mother continues.

“I owe you an apology. A real one,”

Jasmine’s fingers tighten around the cool, smooth glass of her drink, the ice clinking softly as she grips it a little harder. Her gaze remains fixed on the scene unfolding before her, her expression a mask of determination and intensity, betraying none of the internal turmoil swirling within her. The kitchen light casts a warm glow on her face, highlighting the focus in her deep-set eyes as she absorbs every detail around her.

“I judged you before I even got to know you,” my mother says, voice trembling with honesty. “I let my fears and my pride convince me that you were a threat to my family instead of someone who cares deeply for my son. And I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

Jasmine’s expression softens, reflecting an internal struggle between her feelings and the need to understand. She remains silent, allowing my mother to articulate her thoughts without interruption. As my mother explains her actions from the dinner—the hurtful words spoken in a moment of frustration—Jasmine listens intently, her eyes fixed on my mother's face, searching for sincerity and clarity.

My mother recounts the events of that night, detailing the stress she felt due to work and how it unintentionally spilled over into our family gathering. Jasmine leans forward slightly, her posture shifting from defensive to receptive, as she begins to grasp the root of my mother’s behavior. They both share a common desire for resolution, and I hope that by exchanging their perspectives, they can recognize that this misunderstanding—driven by emotions and miscommunication—can be set aside.

As the conversation unfolds, the tension in the room begins to ebb, leaving space for the possibility of reconciliation. With each heartfelt word, I can see both women inching closer to a shared understanding that could allow them to move forward with renewed compassion and respect.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you. For the things I implied and for the stalker incident as well, it even made you scared. You didn’t deserve any of that,” my mother swallows, her voice crackling. “And I hope..I truly hope…that one day you can forgive me.”

Jasmine sets the glass down gently. “Margaret,” she says, testing the name on her lip, “I won’t pretend that it didn’t hurt. It did. A lot.” She pauses, her voice steady but warm. “But I also know what it looks like when a mother is trying to protect her child. And I know what it looks like when someone is genuinely sorry.”

My mother’s eyes shine with relief.

“I’m willing to start over,” Jasmine says. “If you are.”

A small, hopeful smile breaks across my mother’s face - one I haven’t seen in years.

“I would like that very much.”

Jasmine nods, and for the first time, the tension between them eases. Not erased, not forgotten, but softened. A beginning. From where I was standing watching them, I felt something in my chest loosen, too. Maybe this is the moment everything finally starts to heal. The house has finally settled into a hush, the kind that follows a storm, not empty, but relieved. Jasmine and I end up in my old childhood bedroom without really deciding to go there. It’s just where our feet take us, where the air feels familiar and safe. She sits on the edge of my bed, hands clasped loosely in her lap. I close the door behind us and lean against it for a moment, just watching her. She looks tired, but not weighed down the way she was before. More like someone who’s finally allowed to exhale.

“You okay?” I ask, stepping toward her.

She nods, though it’s a slow, thoughtful nod. “Yeah. I think I am.”

I sit beside her, close enough that our knees touch. “You handled that really well.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “I didn’t feel like I did. My heart was beating so fast I thought she could hear it.”

“I could hear it,” I tease gently.

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Shut up.”But she’s smiling, and that alone feels like a victory. A moment passes before she speaks again, quieter this time.

“I didn’t expect her to apologize. Not like that. Not…honestly.”

“I didn’t either,” I admit. “But I’m glad she did. You deserved that.”

Jasmine looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Part of me kept thinking she’d never see me as anything other than a problem. Or a threat. Or…someone who didn’t belong here.”

I reach over and take her hands, stilling them. “You belong with me. That’s never been up for debate.”

Her eyes lift to mine, soft and searching. “I know. But it still hurt.”

“I know it did,” I say, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “And I’m sorry you had to carry that alone for so long.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. She fits there so naturally, like she was always meant to.

“I’m glad she apologized,” she murmurs. “Not because I needed her approval…but because I need the truth to be acknowledged.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “And she meant it. I could see it.”

Jasmine nods against me. “I could too.”

We sit together in the fading light, the atmosphere wrapped around us like a soft blanket, warm and unhurried. The subtle sounds of the evening—distant laughter, the rustling of leaves—create a serene backdrop. Eventually, she shifts slightly, her gaze redirecting as she turns to face me fully, her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and vulnerability. The gentle glow of twilight dances on her skin, highlighting the contours of her face and making the moment feel even more intimate.

“So what now?” she asks, not anxious- just curious.

“Now?” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now we let her prove it. And we take things slow. No pressure. No expectations.”

She smiles, small but real. “I like the sound of that.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead, lingering there for a moment. “We’re okay,” I whisper. “We’re better than okay.”

She closes her eyes, letting the words settle. “Yeah,” she says softly. “We are.”

I lean in and press a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin against my lips as we sink deeper into our embrace. The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the window, casting a golden hue across the room and creating a serene atmosphere that envelops us. In that moment, the gentle rustle of leaves outside and the distant sounds of the evening blend into a comforting backdrop, allowing us to shut out the chaos of the outside world. We breathe in unison, letting the weight of our busy lives melt away, and it feels as if time stands still, giving us the precious gift of this intimate moment together. Here, wrapped in one another’s arms, we create a sanctuary, cherishing the simplicity of being present with each other. And for the first time in weeks, the future doesn’t feel like something we have to brace ourselves for. It feels open. Possible. Ours.