The Suspension
Explaining the suspension to his mother wasn't as hard as Tomás had thought, but it wasn't easy either. When Amelie arrived home, he already had dinner ready and the table set. They ate in silence, under the dim kitchen light, accompanied by the watchful gaze of his cousin Daniela, who could read the tension in the air, though she never intervened.
"I got suspended for two weeks," Tomás blurted out, like someone dropping a bomb and waiting for the blast.
Amelie looked up from her plate, but her expression remained unchanged, as if the news held no weight. "Do I have to go to the high school?"
"It's not necessary," he replied immediately.
The air in the kitchen grew heavier. Daniela continued eating in silence, focused on finishing as quickly as possible to escape the discomfort. Amelie didn't ask why. Not a word. She simply accepted it, with her usual coldness, as if it were something insignificant. That indifference, that empty gesture, caused something within Tomás to begin to break. Maybe it was time to leave.
He was eighteen, with enough money saved to pay for a room anywhere. He didn't have to keep enduring that discomfort, that indifference that felt like an open wound that never closed.
"I plan to leave home," he finally stated, his voice firm.
Amelie put her fork down on the plate, the metallic sound resonating in the silence like a distant echo. "This is your home. You don't need to leave," she said, but her tone was heavier than convincing, like the weight of an anvil that prevents movement.
Tomás took a deep breath before answering. "I don't want to be here. And it's not like you care if I am or not. I'll still cook for you if you want, but I don't want to stay much longer. As soon as I get a new job, I'll leave."
"What happened to your other job?"
"I was fired last week."
"What did you do to get fired?" Amelie insisted, her voice rising just slightly, enough to reveal some irritation.
"Nothing," Tomás immediately retorted, his tone dry, almost defiant.
"You're lying," Amelie cut in, with a coldness that cut deep. "No one gets fired for no reason."
Daniela, sensing the shift in the air, quickly finished what little remained on her plate. "That was delicious, I think I'll go to my room," she said, getting up hurriedly. No one paid her any attention.
Amelie fixed her eyes on Tomás, and this time there was something more there, something that seemed to move between anger and contempt. "You get fired from your job, you get suspended from school, and now you want to leave home. How do you plan to pay for university? Or are you not even planning to go?"
Tomás put his fork down on the plate and met her gaze. "It's the first time you've asked me anything about university," he said, with a mixture of bitterness and sadness. "I have the money to pay tuition and I plan to apply for a scholarship. I don't need much else, and I have enough saved to survive. I'll keep working, you won't have to spend a cent on me."
"I don't accept it. I don't authorize you to leave," Amelie declared, her voice like a blunt blow.
Tomás clenched his fists under the table, and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with tears he tried not to shed. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you. I don't think you care anyway. You've never worried about me, you don't even look at me when I talk to you. You've always treated me as if I weren't your family. Why would you care now what happens to me?" His voice trembled, but he continued, with the accumulated pain of years of rejection. "You've never loved me. That's the truth."
Amelie dropped her fork on the table, this time with force. Hearing those words was like a shot to the chest, but she couldn't refute them. They were true. She knew it. She had always known it.
She hit the table with an open palm, her voice finally breaking a little. "You can't leave. That's all I'll say."
Tomás stood up, tears streaming down his cheeks, but his face was serene. "Not even now can you say anything, can you?" His voice broke at the end. "There was a time when I thought you loved me, even a little. I really tried to please you, but I never succeeded. Never... I succeeded," his words choked on a silent sob.
Amelie looked at him for the first time in years, truly looked at him. And what she saw was the reflection of a man she had hated all her life. A memory she had tried to bury, but which continued to haunt her. She swallowed, her gaze hardening. "I've never loved you. You remind me of that man. Every time I see you, you remind me of him. That's why I've never loved you. Not even a little."
Tomás felt as if his soul had been ripped out. His chest tightened, the air refused to enter his lungs, and one tear after another fell onto the table. "I won't leave if you don't want me to," he managed to say, his voice broken. "I don't know why you don't want me to leave, but I won't go without your permission. Thank you for your honesty. I... I think I'll go get some air."
He turned, leaving his plate half-finished. "I'm sorry if I ever made you suffer. I don't have another mother. I'm so sorry."
Amelie raised her hand and touched Tomás's arm for an instant, as if the contact could stop him. But he gently, almost trembling, pulled his hand away. "I don't know what to say," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I was wrong."
Tomás left the house, closing the door behind him.
Amelie remained at the table for a few seconds, her hand still outstretched in the air. Then she got up and went to her room.
She collapsed onto the bed, trembling. Her breathing was uneven, her chest hurt as if something were tearing inside. Tomás's words echoed in her head endlessly. Why didn't he stay silent? Why did he have to speak? He could have stayed silent until the day he left, or better yet, left in silence, so she never would have said anything and the pain would be less. In reality, now that the damage was done, she regretted it; she didn't want to hurt him, but how could she make amends for so many years of mistreatment towards a child who was now a teenager and almost an adult, how could she make amends for something so terrible that she didn't even dare to remember.
She brought her hands to her face, and for the first time in years, she cried. Her tears were a reflection of all the guilt and hatred she had kept inside herself. She didn't know how to make amends for what she had done, but she knew one thing: she wasn't going to let Tomás leave. Not now, not ever. Even if it cost her her life.