When something went wrong at home and dad asked, how Mom said it was her mistake, how I never said a word and let that lie be accepted as the truth. How I was scared at the possibility of dad scolding me. Or even saying a word. How Mom acted as if nothing happened. How she never looked like she acted. How she accepted it so deeply and genuinely that it looked like the truth. Sometimes I would even think that may be she actually believed that she had misplaced something, or missed something. Or may be not. I don’t know. May be sometimes it was her who misplaced a thing or done something wrong. Or may be not. I don’t know. May be she assumed that it was her duty to always stand for me for however little the thing was, to take up the blame on her, however silly the mistake might have been. Or may be not. I don’t know.
I should have spoken, every time I made a mistake and someone took the blame for me. I should have understood, that accepting one’s mistake is the least one can do to be not wrong again. I should have realized, that a voice in my head would always remind me of all these and make me feel guilty.
If I never believed that angels existed like in fairy tales, I was wrong. My life might not have been a fairy tale, but I have seen an angel the first time I opened my eyes, and I see her every time I close my eyes. Now I know.