Mum, I forgive you!
Margaret Whitby lay in the old thatched cottage, her breath shallow as twilight fell over the Yorkshire moors. One quiet evening she called her daughter, her voice trembling.
Emily, love, Im dying. Its time I tell you everything. I fear I have little left. Forgive me, my child.
Dont say that, Mum! Ill call an ambulance right now!
Dont call anyone, Emily. Just listen to me.
The ailing woman began her confession. It happened many years ago, dear. I had a close friend, Grace. We both grew up in the orphanage and later trained together at the teachers college. After we finished, we were posted to a small village school.
We were assigned to different lodgings: I was given a vacant cottage beside the school, while Grace lived with an elderly couple on the outskirts. All our free time we spent together, sneaking into the village hall for dances to the sound of an accordion. The accordion player was a striking young man. The moment I saw him, I knew he was the one I had waited for all my life. His name was William, darkhaired and ambereyed.
Every weekend Grace and I would race to the hall. I could not take my eyes off William, his voice seemed to wrap around my heart, making it flutter whenever his gaze accidentally landed on me. Yet I noticed he kept looking at Grace, smiling at her, while she blushed and blossomed under his attention. I realised that William preferred the shy, unassuming Grace.
I tried countless times to draw his eye, but he barely noticed me. Jealousy twisted inside me; I grew to hate Grace with a ferocity I could not control. She shone with happiness, oblivious to my raging hatred. One day she burst into my cottage, her smile bright, and whispered,
Margaret, William and I will be married soon.
I understood that my world was ending. Despair crushed me; I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and the only thought that haunted me was that William must belong to me alone. I would do anything for that. I heard from the locals that a reclusive healer, old Agatha, lived in the next hamlet. I went to her seeking help.
I know why youre here, the crone rasped.
Fear seized me at first, but thinking of William gave me courage to ask for a dark favour. Agatha brewed a potent love potion, poured it into a bottle, and handed it to me.
Pour it into his drink, she instructed.
I tried to slip her some money, but she burst into a wicked laugh.
Your coins mean nothing to me. Youll learn what I truly want. Go now.
That night Grace and William came to visit. It was the perfect moment. I set the table, slipped the potion into Williams glass. He drank it, and his expression changed instantly. Grace, sensing something amiss, hurried him home. By morning William stood at my door, insisting that I was the only one he needed. The crones words were trueI had my William. We married soon after and lived in a bliss that felt almost unreal. I could not breathe without him. You may ask what became of Grace?
She avoided us, yet we still had to see each other. I still recall her sorrowful face and tearfilled eyes. The old couple who had housed her spat at me, calling me a witch. Rumours spread through the village that Grace ended up pregnant by William and nearly took her own life. I felt pity for her, but my husband was the centre of my existence.
One bleak afternoon an old man, Grandfather Tom, who had cared for Grace, knocked on our door.
Come with me, he said gruffly.
Why? I asked.
Your friend is dying. She calls for you, he replied.
He looked at me, and without a word I followed him. In the cottage of the elderly, a child wailed. On the bed lay Grace, pale and barely breathing. My heart clenched with pain, and I felt ready to flee, when Grace opened her eyes and whispered hoarsely,
Margaret, Im dying. Take my daughter with you. Let her have a proper family. She reached out, but her hand fell limp.
May her soul rest, the old couple muttered, crossing themselves.
Grandma Matilda let out a mournful wail and handed me a bundleinside was a newborn babe. It was you, my child. I tried to refuse, but Grandfather Tom growled,
I would never have trusted you with this child, but Graces dying wish must be honoured. She was a good soul. Take the baby home and guard her with your life.
And so you entered my world. Your father was furious that I took you in. Your endless cries irritated him and even me. William grew distant, took to drinking, and rarely stayed home. My happiness crumbled before my eyes, and I could do nothing. My dear child, you cannot imagine how much I came to hate you!
I longed for my own baby, and you suddenly fell into my arms. Not long after, I discovered I was pregnant. When William learned this, he quit the bottle, dreaming of a son. It seemed happiness might return. Yet, on the eve of the birth, a nightmare seized me. I was in a dark forest clearing, a hideous creature with fur as black as night leaned toward me, its claws twitching.
Do you recognize me? it hissed in Agathas voice. I have come to claim what is mine.
I awoke screaming in agony, and by nightfall I delivered a lifeless boy. William, devastated, drowned his grief in alcohol and soon died, frozen in the snowdrift. Grandfather Tom and Grandma Matilda followed shortly after, leaving me alone with you in the bleak, white world.
Emily, you became the meaning of my sinful life, the only thing I could not live without. You grew up looking just like your mother. I tried endlessly to tell you the truth, to beg forgiveness, but never found the words. You married, bore me a wonderful grandson, and now I have no time to linger on this heavy confession. I fear leaving this world with such a burden.
The woman fell silent for a heartbeat.
I am responsible for the death of your parents. Will you forgive me, my child? My sin is great before God and before you.
A tremor ran through Emilys body. Tears streamed down the young womans cheeks like a river. Summoning every ounce of strength, she wrapped her arms around the pleading figure and whispered,
Mum, I forgive you.
Margaret Whitby passed away that night in her sleep, a faint smile frozen upon her lips.
