When Regret Hurts More Than Any Punishment
I didn’t cry because of the money.
I cried because of memory.
Every complaint about simple meals.
Every time I avoided introducing her to friends.
Every moment I pretended I came from nothing because it sounded impressive.
That very morning, before the ceremony, I had told her not to come.
“I don’t think you’d be comfortable,” I said.
What I really meant was: I was ashamed.
I dropped to my knees in front of her.
Not for spectacle.
Not to be forgiven.
My body simply collapsed under the weight of what I’d done.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I don’t deserve you.”
She didn’t lecture me.
She didn’t remind me of anything.
She rested her hand on my head and said the simplest words.
“Stand up. Today is about your future.”
