Chapter 8 - THE SHADOW OF GUILT
While my mother’s physical healing progressed rapidly in the comfort of Oak Street, my own internal battle was far from over.
Every evening, after Clara prepared dinner and Mattie retired to her sunroom to read or listen to classic radio shows, I sat on the front porch with my corporate laptop, trying to manage my multi-million dollar enterprise from afar.
My executive board in Boston was growing restless. Cardinal Health Systems was in the middle of a massive forty-million-dollar acquisition of a European pharmaceutical logistics network, and my presence was required at corporate headquarters. My Chief Financial Officer had called me three times a day, begging me to board a private jet and return to the boardroom.
“Susanna, you’ve been in Arkansas for nearly a month,” he had pleaded on a call that afternoon. “The board is asking questions. The legal situation with your brother is being handled by local counsel. You need to be here to sign off on the European merger.”
I stared at the screen, watching the endless stream of unread corporate emails, feeling a profound disconnection from the high-powered world I had spent fifteen years building.
I looked through the front window of the bungalow. Inside, Mattie was sitting in her armchair, her bandaged hands resting peacefully in her lap as she watched the evening news. She looked content, safe, and cared for.
Yet, every time I looked at her, a sharp, cold spike of guilt pierced my chest.
I had built an empire valued in the hundreds of millions. I could command boardrooms, negotiate complex international deals, and manage thousands of employees. But I had failed to check on my own mother for seven years. I had allowed myself to be pacified by monthly wire transfers and fake email updates because it was convenient for my ambition.
A soft footstep sounded behind me on the porch.
Mattie stepped out into the cool evening air, leaning lightly on her wooden cane, wrapped in her lilac cardigan. She sat down slowly in the wicker rocking chair beside my desk.
"You're thinking too hard, Susanna," she said softly, her faded blue eyes seeing right through my corporate composure. "I can hear your brain whirring from the living room."
I closed my laptop with a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry, Mom. I have work stuff going on."
"You need to go back to Boston, don't you?" she asked gently.
I looked at her, my throat tightening. "I don't want to leave you, Mom. I'm terrified that if I get on a plane, something terrible will happen again."
Mattie reached out, placing her clean, soft hand over mine. The red, chemical-scalded skin was completely gone, replaced by healthy, pale skin that was healing every single day under Clara's care.
"Susanna," Mattie said, her voice rich with maternal warmth. "What happened with Wayne wasn't your fault. You trusted your brother because you have a good heart. You sent help because you loved me. You didn't know he was a snake."
"I should have come home," I sobbed quietly, dropping my head into my hands as the weight of seven years of absence finally broke me. "I should have flown down here. I shouldn't have let my business keep me away from you."
May you like
Mattie stroked my hair gently, just as she had done when I was a little girl weeping over broken toys.
"You were building a life, sweetie," she whispered. "Every mother wants her daughter to soar high. You built something incredible out there in the world. And when I needed you most—when the darkness was at its absolute worst—you dropped everything and saved my life. You brought me back to my home. That is what matters."
