Lucian pulled the letter out of his pocket, the crisp fold of the paper catching on his fingertips. He stared at it for a long moment, as though the words inside might burn him.
Sitting up from his bed, he swung his legs down, letting them dangle over the edge. His shoes brushed lightly against the floor, but he didn’t notice. His focus was on the letter.
“Haaa…” he exhaled quietly, running his fingers over the edge of the paper. “What do you think, Max? Will it be… a good thing?”
[Host,] Max’s voice came softly in his head, tinged with a rare seriousness. [It’s alright. I can see they’re trying. But it’s also understandable that you’re struggling to accept them after… well, everything.] Max paused, sighing. [Just look inside, Host. I’m curious too. Let’s hope it’s something good.]
Lucian let out a small, humorless chuckle. “Hmmm,” he murmured faintly, his heart doing a strange little flip in his chest.
His hands were slow as he unfolded the letter, the paper crinkling softly in the stillness of the room. A strange weight pressed on his chest—a hesitant mix of dread and hope. I don’t expect much, he told himself. But his heart betrayed him, its steady thumping growing louder in his ears. Maybe… I still want something.
With a deep breath, Lucian opened the letter and began to read.
—
Dear Lucian,
I’ve been sitting here, trying to find the right words. Words that could somehow make up for all the years I spent not truly seeing you. Words that could take away the hurt I’ve caused. But the truth is, there’s no way to undo the past. There’s no way to erase the times I hurt you, ignored your needs, or let my own struggles get in the way of being the mother you deserved.
Lucian …his fingers gripping the edges of the letter a little tighter. His throat tightened as he continued reading,
For years, I thought I was doing my best. I thought that because I was providing, or because I was trying to give you everything I never had, that it would be enough. But I was wrong. I realize now that it’s not the things I gave you, or the rules I set, or even the silence I sometimes held between us. What you needed most was me. Not just in body, but in heart. In presence. In understanding.
I see now that I didn’t listen to you as I should have. I didn’t see your pain. I didn’t recognize when you were reaching out, even in the smallest ways. I didn’t know how to be the mother you needed, and because of that, I failed you. For that, I am so deeply sorry.
Lucian’s jaw tightened as he read those words. He moved it slightly, side to side, as though trying to work through the ache building in his chest. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring for a moment before he shook his head and forced himself to keep reading.
There’s a part of me that is afraid afraid that my apology will never be enough. That the space between us will always be too wide, too far to cross. And maybe it will take time. I know I can’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or to trust me just because I say I’m sorry. Trust is built with actions, not words.
So, all I can offer you now is a promise. A promise that I will try every single day to be the mother you deserve. A promise that I will be there, truly there, for you. To listen. To support. To love you without expectation or judgment.
Lucian felt something sting behind his eyes, sharp and hot. He closed them briefly, letting out a shaky breath. His hand trembled slightly as he turned the page, revealing the final part of the letter.
I know that I’ve hurt you. And I can’t change that, no matter how much I wish I could. But I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that I can be better that I can be the kind of mother who sees you, hears you, and loves you in all the ways you need to feel it.
Please know that I don’t expect anything in return. I don’t expect forgiveness immediately, or for you to forget what’s happened. I just want you to know that I am here, and I always will be, if and when you’re ready to let me back in.
I want to rebuild the trust we’ve lost. I want to make new memories better memories.
I’m not perfect. I will make mistakes. But I will keep trying. I love you, my Lucy, more than words can express. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much.
With all my heart,
Mom
The room felt heavy as Lucian finished reading, the letter trembling slightly in his hands. He exhaled deeply, the sound shaky and uneven, and let the paper fall onto his lap.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the words, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn’t name. His throat felt tight, and he clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the surge of feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
“She… really wrote this,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.
[Host…] Max’s voice came gently, uncharacteristically soft. [It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling right now. Let it out.]
Lucian closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t sure what he felt anger, sadness, relief? It was all tangled together, pressing against his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to lift.
“Haaa…” He let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. “What do I even do with this?” he whispered to himself.
But deep down, buried beneath the layers of hurt and doubt, something shifted. It was small, faint, but undeniable a flicker of warmth. A tiny seed of hope that hadn’t been there before.
Lucian stared at the letter for a long moment, the weight of the words lingering in his chest. His fingers brushed over the paper absently, his jaw tightening and loosening as if working through the emotions building within him.
“I guess…” he murmured quietly, his lips twitching into the faintest smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll see if she really means it. But…” His voice trailed off as his expression hardened slightly, a familiar wall rising behind his gaze. “I definitely won’t trust or have any expectations toward anyone. Not anymore.”
Even as he spoke the words, a part of him felt conflicted, the flicker of warmth battling against the cold resolve he had lived with for so long.
With a soft thud, Lucian let himself fall back onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath him. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths.
“Today wasn’t… that bad, I guess,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “As you said, Max.”
[Host…] Max’s voice came softly, its usual sharpness replaced with a rare gentleness. [Yeah, it wasn’t as i had said.]
Lucian exhaled deeply, the sound more a sigh than anything else. He felt the tension in his body begin to ease, though his mind remained restless. For most of the day, he had felt like everything was falling apart. But these last moments…
For the first time in a long time, he felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: the faintest trace of something resembling comfort.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his past life. How many nights had he wished for moments like this? Moments where his mother’s voice wasn’t sharp with commands or distant with indifference, but soft with sincerity? How many times had he imagined his family reaching out to him with warmth, only to wake up to the cold reality of neglect and betrayal?
A small, bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked humor. “How much had I wished for this?” he whispered to himself, his voice cracking slightly. “But no matter how much I tried back then… it never happened.”
His gaze flickered to the ceiling, his eyes blinking slowly. The faint glow of the light above blurred in his vision, a quiet stillness filling the room.
“Am I happy?” he murmured aloud, the question hanging in the air. His tone was conflicted, uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “Maybe. But…”
He trailed off, his thoughts swirling like a storm he couldn’t quiet. His arms moved instinctively, folding beneath his head as he lay sprawled on the bed. The position felt strangely vulnerable, like he was letting himself relax for the first time all day.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his lips pressed into a thin line. His chest rose and fell with each measured breath, his mind caught between memories of the past and the tentative hope that had begun to creep into the edges of his present.
For now, Lucian didn’t say anything more. His eyes blinked slowly, the silence around him heavy yet oddly soothing. The faint creak of the bed beneath him and the rhythmic beat of his heart were the only sounds that filled the room.
And as he lay there, staring up into the quiet, he let himself feel just for a moment the fragile beginnings of something he couldn’t yet name.
—