Page 36 of Penance (Rising From the Ashes #2)

Gwen runs her tongue along the edge of her teeth as if she’s fighting back emotions, and when she speaks, her voice is thick.

“Was. Growing up, he was the sweetest kid. Despite how we—lived—” she stops, looking around at her home, “he never complained. It was just me here. My husband left before Austin was born, so I raised him alone. It wasn’t easy.

There were times I was working three jobs.

I would be gone almost twenty-four hours at a time just to keep the lights on.

Not many people want to hire a high school drop-out, so it made it hard to get a good paying job. ”

Her story could be the story of a million other people. Single parents just trying to make ends meet while their kids sit at home alone. It doesn’t make them any less loved, but the kids usually see it that way.

“By middle school, Austin had fallen into the wrong crowd. Started smoking cigarettes first. Then alcohol. Then weed. Then harder drugs. By the time I noticed, he was already addicted. We fought about it a lot—on the days I was home—and he always promised to quit. Promised he would get help. I wanted to believe him. A mother always wants to believe the best of their child, so much so that sometimes it blinds us to their reality. My wake-up call came the day I came home from work to find that the money I had set aside for bills was gone. He’d taken it to buy drugs.

I was tired—beaten down and broken—and I’d had enough.

I kicked him out that very night. We stopped talking. ”

Gwen stops, looking at the window with a far-off look in her eyes.

Her story isn’t finished, but she needs time to tell it.

Selfishly, I’m thankful for that because I need time, too.

This feels pointed—like Theo wanted me to hear this because he is taking my mom’s side despite what little he knows—but then I hear his words to me.

Because he was worth getting better for, and so are you. You are worth it.

So what is it he wants me to see here?

Before I can come up with an answer, Gwen continues.

“After I kicked him out, Austin spiraled. I thought it was tough love. That I was saving him by giving him a reality check instead of enabling him. I still don’t think I was wrong for that.

Something had to change, but I wish I’d given him a better chance.

Six months later, I received a phone call from the local hospital.

Austin had died from an overdose. I spent a long time being angry—some days I’m still angry—but I had to choose to forgive him. ”

I scoff, not really meaning to. It’s just the idea of forgiveness for someone who hasn’t earned it is preposterous to me. Gwen lifts one brow, and I apologize.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make light of your story or your son’s death, but I just don’t understand the concept of forgiveness.”

Theo stiffens beside me, and I realize how that must sound to him—what he must believe about himself with Tanner. But he’s earned his forgiveness, or at least he’s trying to. Gwen’s son—my mom—they were never sorry for the hurt they caused. They just kept hurting.

“Care to elaborate? Gwen asks.

I shrug. “Forgiveness comes when someone asks for it—when they prove they are sorry. If you forgive someone without change, you’re giving them permission to do it again. Eventually, you become a doormat for them to walk all over you.”

I had.

For the first time since arriving here, Gwen’s face is filled with emotion—but only one. Pity. It’s clear as day, but I don’t need it. Don’t want it . I made my decisions, and I’m living with them.

“You’re wrong, girl,” Gwen says, shaking her head.

“Fine, let’s say you’re right. You forgive them, but they don’t change. What then? Because in my experience, it eventually leads to a lot of resentment. ”

“Seventy times seven.”

My brows dip. “What?”

“That’s how many times Jesus told us to forgive.

You see, after my son died, I was angry, but not just at Austin.

I was angry at myself, too. I started looking for ways to ease the anger and guilt I was feeling, and it eventually led me to work at a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center where I met a lot of people who were just like my son.

The rehabilitation center I was working at had a class for parents and loved ones of addicts.

One of my coworkers pushed me to attend, and I did.

It changed my life. Seventy times seven .

It was the first time I’d ever heard that.

One of the other parents, who had been coming there a lot longer than I had, mentioned it.

Right after that meeting, I went and looked it up.

One of Jesus’s disciples asked him how many times he needed to forgive.

Jesus’s answer was seventy times seven. That number stuck with me, but it was the verses before that that really made a difference. What to know what they said?”

“What?” I croak, my throat dry.

“I’m paraphrasing here, but the parable tells us that we should go to those who wrong us and talk to them, but—if their actions do not change—then we should distance ourselves from them.

You see, the thing is, those verses are together for a reason.

Forgiveness does not mean we have to continue to accept the same treatment.

It just means we don’t have to hold on to our anger. ”

“Are you implying anger is worse than addiction?” I ask, scoffing at the notion.

“I’m saying that both can be just as deadly.”

I look at Theo. “And you—do you believe all of this?”

Gwen’s laugh cuts through Theo’s answer. “We’re still working on that boy. He doesn’t know how to let go of guilt that is not his to hold. Isn’t that right, Theo?”

Theo dips his chin, his cheeks turning a brilliant red, and he mutters something about not being here for him.

I can’t decide if I’m thankful or angry that he brought me here.

I can see his intention, but one text doesn’t mean he knows the situation between my mom and me.

I’m glad he has Gwen—that she helped him get through his addiction—and I hope one day he sees that he earned his forgiveness.

Both from Tanner and himself. After hearing her story, I’m even glad Gwen was able to find her peace, but that doesn’t change how I see things. What my mom did will never be okay.