Is She Forgiven?

Would she wake up tomorrow and find this was all a dream?

Find herself back home,

Sunlight pouring through thin curtains,

Dust dancing in the morning light,

And him—standing at the door, knocking,

Looking for his son, or maybe his son’s wife?

Would she hear his voice again?

Would she get another chance?

One more day to make it right?

One more day to let the words spill out of her,

Like water from a cup too full?

She would give anything—anything—

To turn back time,

To unlearn the lessons that led her away,

To undo the whispers that twisted truth into doubt.

This time, she wouldn’t hide.

This time, she’d let her joy show.

She wouldn’t tuck it away behind stiff nods and small smiles,

Wouldn’t pretend she didn’t care.

No, this time, she’d run to the door.

This time, she’d laugh too loud.

This time, she’d hold on.

Even when she was just a child,

When the woman—her mother, her family, the others—

Would chase them from his house,

Telling them to go back where they belonged—

Even then, she should have known.

Even then, she should have seen.

She should have stayed.

She should have fought for him.

She should have listened—to him.

But she didn’t.

And now, she was left with nothing but regret,

Nothing but echoes of what could have been.

What if they lied?

What if they were wrong?

What if he had apologized, and she wasn’t there to hear it?

Now, his son held him close—

The only one among them who saw past it all.

And she?

She should have been there.

She should have known.

She should have stayed.

Would he forgive her?

Even if she didn’t deserve it?

Even if time wouldn’t give her another chance?

She wished for ten minutes.

Just ten minutes.

To stand in front of him, face bare, heart open,

To say everything she never said.

To tell him—she never hated him.

She never feared him.

She just didn’t know what to believe.

She wished she could turn back time—

To when she was still small, sitting by his legs,

Listening to his stories of the bull rhino,

The one that challenged every beast until the dust rose.

To when she still relished his kale stew,

Before doubt built walls between them,

Before silence stretched wider than the distance itself.

But she couldn’t turn back time.

And she couldn’t bring herself to blame anyone else.

Because in the end, she was the one who walked away.

So she asked again—

Would he forgive her?

Even if she didn’t deserve it?

Even if he’d never hear her whisper—

"I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m so, so sorry."