“Then, when I spelled the word ‘whole’ as h-o-l-e on a spelling test and received a ninety-eight percent.”
Marin had been in school for two months. The teacher had put a smiley face and sticker on the paper, so proud of her new student for having mastered the unknown English words. Marin had shown the test first to Ranee, who had hugged her daughter and told her how proud she was. Then she waited anxiously for her father to arrive home. When he did, she ran to him like she used to in India upon his arrival, waiting to be picked up and thrown into the air with joy. But those days were long past, never to be seen again.
“He slapped me twice and told me if I didn’t get one hundred percent next time he would disown me.”
“Mom.” There are tears in Gia’s eyes. The barrier between them starts to crumble, each piece falling slowly away. “Why would he do such a thing?” Gia asks.
“I don’t know,” Marin finally admits. “He never told me.” Marin says the words she has never been able to accept before. “He didn’t love me. He may have before, in India, but somewhere along the way he stopped.”
“How do you stop loving your own child?”
Marin thought about the last few months, how she and Gia ended up on separate sides of the same story. Throughout the hell, not once did she stop loving her daughter. It was impossible. “You don’t,” Marin answers. “You may not agree on everything, but you don’t stop loving them. My father is the example of what a parent should never be. Any lesson I took from him on how to raise you . . .” Marin stops, taking Gia’s hand in her own. She grasps for the right words, ashamed of her actions. “He hit me every opportunity he had. It didn’t matter if I got great grades or was first in my class. Nothing was good enough. He hit me because he could. I wasn’t able stop him,” Marin chokes back a sob. “That’s why I did what I did with Adam.”
“Because you could stop him,” Gia says with understanding.
“Because I couldn’t let you be hurt the way I was hurt. I wasn’t able to fight for myself, but I would do anything to fight for you,” Marin answers. “Because I knew the damage the violence and abuse had done and couldn’t bear to allow that to happen to you. When you were born, I felt like everything that had happened to me was worth it if it meant getting you.”
“Mom,” Gia whispers, tears rolling down. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about your past? About what had happened to you?”
“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t love me,” Marin, her voice catching on her words, is finally able to admit the truth to both of them. “If you knew I had been broken, maybe you wouldn’t love me with flaws.” Marin realizes something she never has before. “Now I know it wasn’t about me. It never was. He beat me because he was broken.” Marin pauses. “But I was so afraid of losing your love.”
“You’re my mom,” Gia answers, laughing between her tears. “I love you no matter what.”
“I hope so,” Marin answers, her eyes shining. “Because there’s a lot I can live without, but not. . .” Marin can’t finish the sentence, the words lost. She holds her arms out for Gia, who crawls into them. They hold one another, both quiet. “Why did you let him hit you?” Marin finally asks. “Why do you love him so much?”
“Because I didn’t have to be perfect with him,” Gia says after some thought. “Because I didn’t have to always be in control.”
“The way I wanted you to be,” Marin accepts.
“I think so.”
“And when he hit you?” Marin finally asks the question that has tortured her since she learned the truth. “How did you feel?”