Chapter 28: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Lily sat back in the café chair, the soft hum of conversation around her distant, as if it belonged to another world. Her mom's hand, still resting on top of hers, was warm, but it couldn't quite erase the chill that had settled inside her. The words they had exchanged hung between them like fragile threads, threads that they both seemed unwilling to pull too tightly. But there was something unsaid in the air, something that both of them were trying to ignore. Maybe it was easier that way, easier than confronting the truth, confronting the past that had built a wall around them for so long.

Her mom's eyes were fixed on their joined hands, her thumb gently moving in slow circles over Lily's skin, as if she was trying to offer comfort without words. But Lily felt something else beneath the surface—something darker, something heavier. She had spent so much of her life convincing herself that she was fine, that she had moved on from the pain of their fractured relationship. That she didn't need her mom. That she was better off on her own. She had told herself that for years, had buried herself in the life she had built away from her family, telling herself she was strong enough to stand apart, that the distance was her choice.

But sitting here now, in the quiet stillness of the café, those lies felt like they were crashing down around her. She wasn't strong. She was afraid. Afraid of being hurt again. Afraid of what this conversation might reveal—not just about her mom, but about herself.

"I've been lying to myself for so long," Lily said suddenly, her voice low, almost tentative. Her eyes met her mom's, searching for something, some sign of understanding, but all she saw was confusion mirrored back at her.

Her mom's brows furrowed, the concern deepening in her eyes. "What do you mean, honey?"

Lily took a deep breath, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. "I've told myself that I didn't need you. That I was better off without you. That I was fine, that I didn't need anyone. And maybe I thought I was protecting myself, but really, I was just lying. I was lying to myself because I didn't want to face the truth. The truth that… that I still needed you."

Her mom's face softened, her grip tightening slightly as if she was trying to hold on to the fleeting moment of vulnerability. But Lily wasn't done. The weight of everything she had hidden away for years was rising to the surface, and now that she had started, it was hard to stop.

"I told myself I didn't care that we weren't close. That it didn't matter," Lily continued, her voice shaking now. "But it did matter. It always mattered. I don't know when it happened, when we drifted so far apart, but somewhere along the way, I stopped telling myself the truth. I started convincing myself that the pain didn't hurt. That it was better to just keep everything buried, to just walk away and never look back."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had spent so much time hiding from the truth, from the weight of the emptiness in her heart, that even now, when she was finally trying to confront it, it felt too raw, too exposed. She felt naked in front of her mom, as if all her carefully built walls had crumbled in a single moment.

Her mom's expression softened further, and she reached out, gently cupping Lily's face in her hands. "Oh, Lily," she whispered. "I didn't realize… I never realized how much you were hurting."

Lily swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a combination of sorrow and relief. The relief was strange—she had expected the weight of truth to feel suffocating, to drown her, but it was a lightness she hadn't known she was searching for. It wasn't just the truth about her mom, but the truth about herself. The lies she had told herself had been a defense mechanism, a way to keep herself from being vulnerable, from acknowledging that she had never really healed from the years of distance between them.

"I didn't want to admit it to myself, let alone to you," Lily murmured. "But I've been lying to myself for so long. Telling myself I was fine. That I didn't need anyone. That I didn't need you. But I do. I need you, Mom. I always have."

Her mom's eyes welled with tears, and she pulled Lily into an embrace, tighter this time, as if she was trying to make up for lost time. "I didn't know how much I needed you either," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I've been lying to myself too. Telling myself that I gave you space, that I didn't push you away. But I did. I pushed you away in so many ways, and I'm so sorry for that. I should have tried harder. I should have reached out more."

Lily's heart clenched at the rawness in her mom's voice, the admission of regret, of guilt. She realized, suddenly, that they had both been lying to themselves, but in different ways. Her mom had told herself that distance was the best thing for Lily, that giving her space meant she was respecting her boundaries. But in doing so, she had pulled away when what Lily had really needed was for her to stay close, to fight for their relationship.

And Lily… Lily had convinced herself that the pain of their fractured relationship didn't matter. That it was easier to be alone, to be distant, than to risk the vulnerability of reconnecting. She had told herself that she was fine, that she didn't need her mom's love or approval, that she was strong enough to handle everything on her own. But the truth was, she had never been fine. And it had taken this moment—this painful, tender moment with her mom—to realize just how much she had lied to herself.

For the longest time, she had thought that distance would make the pain go away. That by walking away from her mom, she could stop feeling the weight of the loss. But all it had done was make the hurt fester, buried deep beneath layers of pride and fear. The lies had become so ingrained in her that she couldn't even recognize them until they were stripped away in the light of truth.

"I've spent so much time trying to protect myself from feeling this," Lily said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought if I didn't care, I wouldn't hurt. But I was wrong. And now… now I don't know how to fix it."

Her mom's hands trembled as they cupped Lily's face again, and she gave a gentle, reassuring smile. "We don't have to fix everything right now, honey. We just have to start. One step at a time. We've both been telling ourselves lies for so long, but the truth is… we can't change the past. We can only move forward."

Lily nodded slowly, absorbing her mom's words, letting them sink in. There was a strange comfort in that, in knowing that it wasn't too late to start over, to rebuild what had been broken. It wasn't going to be easy, and there were still so many unanswered questions, so many things left unsaid between them. But for the first time in years, Lily felt the possibility of something new—a future, not defined by the lies they had told themselves, but by the truth they were finally willing to face.

"I want to move forward, Mom," Lily said softly, her voice filled with resolve. "I don't want to keep lying to myself. I want to try. I want to try with you."

Her mom's eyes filled with tears, and she pulled Lily close again, holding her tight as if she never wanted to let go. "I want that too, Lily. I want to try, too. We can do this. Together."

Lily closed her eyes, letting the warmth of her mom's embrace surround her. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel so alone. The lies they had told themselves might have been necessary once, but now they were just shadows, fading in the light of their truth. And maybe, just maybe, the road they had both been too afraid to take was still there, waiting for them to walk it together.

And for the first time, Lily believed that maybe they could.