â Q U I N N â
Apologies can't undo the past, but they hold the power to shape what comes next. When spoken sincerely, they become a way to heal wounds that words alone can't mend. An apology isn't just saying "I'm sorry"; it's a promise to be better, to show through actions what words might struggle to convey. It's one of the bravest acts a person can take and one of the strongest gifts they can offer. Apologizing isn't about proving who was right or wrong; it's about showing that the bond between you matters more than pride or stubbornness. It's the quiet, powerful way of saying, "This relationship means everything to me."
The silence was unsettling, thick with the weight of memories and loss. The only sounds came from the wind rustling through the branches and the occasional call of birds, but even those felt distant, almost muted. I stood in the heart of the cemetery, surrounded by rows of graves that stretched as far as my eyes could see. Each tombstone told a story, names and dates etched into cold stone. Clutching a crumpled piece of paper in my hand, I searched, my gaze darting from one name to the next, my breath tight in my chest.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, I found it. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the stone before me. The words "Amelia West" were carved into its surface, now dulled by time and dust.
"Mama..." The word left my lips as a whisper, barely audible but heavy with emotion. The grave looked untouched, abandoned to the elements. The once-pristine lettering was smudged with dirt, and there were no flowers or signs of recent visits. My knees buckled, and I sank to the ground, unable to fight the overwhelming weakness that swept over me. With a trembling hand, I took out my handkerchief and carefully wiped the dirt from her name until it stood out sharp and clear.
"I missed you, Mama." The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. The ache in my chest felt unbearable as I placed the fresh flowers at her grave. Memories of that dayâbeing torn away from home, the sight of police lights flashing as they took Papa awayârushed over me. And now, finally finding her, the loss hit me all over again. This was the first time I stood at my mother's resting place, a moment that felt both like an ending and a beginning.
"Mama, I'm so sorry." The words came out cracked, barely holding together under the weight of my guilt. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect you from Papa. I'm sorry I believed in him, even when I should have known better. I'm sorry for every time I made you cry." The tears that had been brimming finally spilled over, streaming down my face as sobs wracked my body. The pain clawed at my chest, squeezing until it felt like I couldn't breathe.
"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Mama. I'm sorry for everything." The dam of emotions I had held back for so long broke open, flooding me with grief and regret so intense it was suffocating. I hadn't cried like this beforeânot with the kind of raw, guttural sound that seemed to come from the depths of my soul. My heart pounded wildly, a painful rhythm that echoed the sorrow surging through me.
"I love you so much, Mama." My voice trembled as I choked out the words, my vision blurred by tears. "I missed you every day. And I'm so sorry I kept hurting myself just to feel like you were close again. I don't know what to do, Mama." My fingers dug into the dirt and soil in front of her grave, grasping at something tangible, something that connected me to her. The ground was cool and unyielding, but it was the only thing I had.
"I just want to hear your voice again," I whispered through the sobs, feeling the ache in my chest deepen. "I want to hear you say you love me one more time." My cries grew quieter, as if the words were sinking into the earth beneath me. "I wasn't a good child back then, and I'm not a good person now. But I want to be better, Mama. I really do. Please... tell me what to do."
The wind rustled the leaves above, a gentle sound that almost felt like an answer, though it was not enough. I sat there, holding onto the silence, hoping somehow she could hear meâpraying that somewhere, somehow, she could know how deeply sorry I was.
I felt like my entire body was swollen, every muscle aching as I lay in bed. It was a struggle to even open my eyes, too sore from crying my heart out for what felt like hours. I let out a deep breath, trying to gather my strength before sitting up on the edge of the bed. The room spun slightly as I took in my surroundings, and my gaze drifted to the laptop sitting on the table in front of me.
With a heavy sigh, I stood up, each movement a reminder of the emotional toll I had endured. I slowly approached the table, feeling the coolness of the wooden surface beneath my fingertips as I reached for the laptop. Taking a seat in the chair, I opened the device, the screen illuminating the dim room.
â C H L O E â
Apologies are more than just words; they are a delicate dance of saying "I'm sorry" and truly understanding how to show that you mean it. When we ask for forgiveness, we can't change what has happened, but we can open the door to a brighter future. Saying "sorry" isn't just about the word itself; it reflects how much we value the person we've hurt.
A heartfelt apology, expressed with warmth and sincerity, has the power to heal wounds in the same way medicine can soothe physical pain. It wraps around a hurting heart like a gentle hug, bringing comfort and relief to the soul that suffers. When we apologize genuinely, we don't just mend what was broken; we create space for understanding and healing.
I collapsed onto Quinn's bed, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. It had been a long, exhausting day, but really, it had been like this for the past two monthsâever since Quinn disappeared. I lay there, my arms stretching out to the cold, empty space beside me, where she used to be. It felt untouched, a painful reminder of her absence.
Tears began to flow again as I curled into a ball, the familiar ache in my chest growing stronger. I had been like this for what felt like forever, whether it was morning, afternoon, or evening. Whenever I found myself in Quinn's bed, I couldn't help but let my emotions spill out. I missed her more than words could express, and the fear of something terrible happening to her consumed me. All I wanted was to know that she was okay, that she was safe, even if it meant she was miles away.
As I continued to cry my heart out, I suddenly heard a beepâone I knew my phone wouldn't make. I tilted my head, looking around for the source. It was coming from my laptop, which had lit up and started beeping for some reason. I sank back into the pillow, but then it beeped again a few times, and in my irritation, I pushed myself up from the bed, intending to close it. But I froze midway when I saw the screen. The screen showed my wallpaper, and in the center were words typed out: "I'm sorry, baby."
I didn't need to think for a second about who could've written those wordsâit was Quinn. I stared at the screen, my heart racing, but before I could process my emotions, the note disappeared, leaving me both curious and worried. I slowly approached the table, only to be stopped again as another message popped up: "I'm here."
"Quinn!" I rushed to the table, disbelief flooding through me. I didn't know how she was doing this, but the messages were appearing as notes on my screen, not through any messaging platform. Quinn was somehow hacking into my laptop to send these messages. Relief washed over me, but sadness followed closely behind. She was okay, but she was communicating in a way that made it hard for me to find her.
"Baby! I missed you. Please come back. I'm begging you, Quinn. I love you! Please!" I shouted, not knowing if she could hear me. I wanted her to understand that I felt like I was dying with every passing day she was gone. I missed her so much. I waited for a few more minutes, hoping another note would appear, but nothing came.
"Quinn... Please talk to me. Baby, please." Tears streamed down my face. It felt like she had sent that message just to let me know she was safe and to say sorry for leaving without a word. But I needed to know why. Why did she make that choice? Why hadn't she talked to me before making such a decision? Why had she left me hanging, in pain, missing her more than I could bear?
"Chloe? Are you okay?" Elise's voice was soft as she gently knocked on the door, pushing it open. Her eyes met mine, and I could see the worry etched on her face as she noticed the fresh tears on my cheeks.
"Hey...are you okay?" she repeated, her voice full of concern.
"It's Quinn, Elise," I whispered, my voice shaking. "She sent a message." I watched as Elise's eyes widened in surprise.
"Is she okay? Did she say where she is right now?" she asked, quickly moving toward me.
I shook my head, feeling the ache in my chest grow. "No, she didn't. Nothing about where she is."
Elise sat beside me, her eyes searching mine. "I just don't understand why she would leave without telling me anything. It's tearing me apart not knowing if she's safe, or why she didn't talk to me first." My voice broke as the tears came again. "I keep replaying everything, wondering if I missed something...if there was anything I could have done to make her stay."
Elise took a deep breath. "That kind of uncertainty is one of the hardest parts, isn't it? Not knowing why, or if there was anything you could have done. But, Chloe, it's so important to remind yourself that people don't always leave to hurt others. Sometimes, they're dealing with things we can't see. Things they might not fully understand themselves."
I wiped my eyes, frustration bubbling up. "But why couldn't she just tell me? I could have helped her. We could have faced it together."
Elise gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sometimes, Chloe, whatever someone is dealing with feels so overwhelming they feel they have to face it alone. It's not about a lack of trust or love. It's about needing space to find their own strength, to protect the ones they care about."
The pain in my chest felt as if it might split me open. "It hurts so much, Elise. Every day, it feels like I'm missing a piece of myself."
"Of course it does," she said softly. "It's okay to feel that pain. This is a kind of loss, even if it might not be forever. And while you don't have all the answers right now, trust that she had her reasonsâand those reasons weren't to hurt you. Sometimes, the people we love step away not to push us out but to find a way back to themselves."
My voice trembled. "But what if she doesn't come back? What if I never get to understand why?"
Elise gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "That fear is real, Chloe, and it's okay to feel it. But remember, healing isn't a straight path. If she's out there, working through her pain, trust that she's moving toward that goal. And if she does come back, it'll be because she feels whole enough to return to you. In the meantime, focus on healing, too. Hold on to hope, yes, but don't forget to take care of yourself. That's the best way you can honor what you hadâand be ready, no matter what comes."
"Thank you, Elise," I whispered, wiping away a stray tear. "It's just... everything feels so heavy without her here."
Elise reached out, placing a comforting hand on mine. "I know, Chloe. It's okay to miss her, to feel every bit of this pain. But remember, this isn't the end. She left that message, which means she still cares deeply about you, even if she couldn't say it all in person."
I nodded, her words sinking in. "It's just hard to hold on to that hope sometimes. I feel so lost."
"Take it day by day," Elise said softly. "Right now, focus on the small thingsâgetting through each day, letting yourself feel, and reminding yourself that you're not alone. I'm here for you, and so are others who love you. And if Quinn comes back, you'll be ready, stronger, and more whole yourself."
As I leaned into her, feeling her steady presence, I allowed myself a tiny glimmer of hope. For the first time in a long while, I felt a little less alone.