I miss my mom. I used to push all the buttons just as she would walk down the aisle, a mischievous glint in my eye. Each time we visited the grocery store, I’d dash ahead, my small fingers dancing over the colorful buttons of the self-checkout machine. With each beep, she’d turn around, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You little rascal! One day, you’re going to break it!” she’d say, shaking her head, but her smile would give her away. Those moments were filled with laughter and light, the kind of memories that could brighten even the dullest days.
Since her passing, the grocery store has become a hollow place for me. I walk through, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and I feel the weight of the emptiness settle in my chest. The shelves filled with brightly packaged goods seem to mock my solitude. I can still hear her voice, echoing in my mind, reminding me to pick up my favorite snacks or to try a new recipe. I wander through the aisles, my heart heavy, searching for a piece of her in every corner.
I remember how she would linger by the produce, inspecting the apples with care, always choosing the shiniest ones. “The best things in life are worth taking a moment to choose,” she would say, her hands gently brushing over the fruit. Now, I find myself standing there, staring at the apples, unable to choose. They all seem dull and lifeless without her touch.
The self-checkout machines are still there, their buttons waiting to be pressed, but they feel like a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t bring myself to push them anymore. The last time I stood in front of one, the memories flooded back. I could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence beside me. But it was just a memory, fleeting and painful.
Every week, I return to the store, hoping that somehow it will feel different, that I’ll find a way to connect with her again. But the aisles remain unchanged, their fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent reminder of my loneliness. I see other families laughing and chatting, and I feel like an outsider looking in on a world that no longer includes me.
One evening, as I walked past the cereal aisle, I spotted a box of her favorite brand. It was decorated with bright colors and cheerful characters, a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed it, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over me. I could almost see her standing beside me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s get it! We can make our special breakfast tomorrow!”
With the box cradled in my arms, I made my way to the checkout. I felt a warmth spreading through me, the kind of warmth that comes from cherished memories. But as I stood there, scanning the items and watching the screen flash numbers, I realized that I was alone. The laughter we shared, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, all of it felt like a distant dream.
When I got home, I placed the box on the kitchen counter, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. I thought about making pancakes, just like we used to, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and maple syrup. I reached for my phone to call her, to share the news, but my heart sank as reality set in. There would be no more calls, no more laughter echoing through the house.
That night, I sat in the dark, the box of cereal beside me, feeling the weight of my grief settle in. I poured myself a bowl, the sound of the cereal hitting the milk breaking the silence. As I took the first bite, tears streamed down my cheeks. Each crunch reminded me of the moments we had shared, and I felt an ache in my chest for the warmth of her presence.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “I wish I could press all the buttons just one more time, hear you laugh, feel your hand in mine.”
But the buttons would remain untouched, just as the aisles of the grocery store would remain silent, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside. And in that moment, I realized that while the world continued to move forward, I would always carry her with me, a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled my life.
I Brought My Fiancé to Meet My Parents — He Fled in the Middle of the Night, Shouting ‘I Can’t Believe It!’
I’ve been with my fiancé for six years, and we were supposed to get married next month. But during a visit to my parents, he discovered their secret lifestyle, causing him to question our relationship too.
I’ve been with my fiancé for six years, but we’ve known each other for nine. We were supposed to get married next month, but then everything changed the course of our wedding journey.
We went to visit my parents to introduce him to more of my extended family before the wedding. My parents offered to host us, and we’ve been staying in my old room for the sake of nostalgia.
My fiancé, Adam, wanted to stay at a hotel, but I thought it would be fun to just have him share my old room with me.
“I don’t see why staying in your childhood home is going to change anything,” Adam told me when we were packing for the trip.
“Because it’s going to be my last time with my parents under their roof before I become a married woman. It’s going to be a sentimental moment,” I replied.
“If it gets uncomfortable, I’m just going to check myself into a hotel,” he said casually.
Of course, I didn’t expect what would happen next.
We got to my parents’ home, and everyone was excited to see us. My mother and aunt had cooked up an elaborate meal for us, ready to just sit down at the table and get to know Adam better.
All through dinner, everything went as well as expected, and Adam happily enjoyed having the attention centered around him.
“This is new for me,” he said as we did the dishes in between the mains and dessert. “I’m not used to having people pay attention to me like this.”
“It’s a good thing,” I said, handing him a plate. “You’re supposed to feel welcome and at home with my family, too.”
As the night died down and we all went to bed, ready for a good night’s sleep before the following day’s family outing to the local theme park, Adam kept disturbing my sleep.
“What’s going on?” I asked, turning to face him.
“I just can’t sleep, Sasha,” he snapped. “It’s not my bed, and I’m not used to sleeping in beds that aren’t my own. And your bed is lumpy and uncomfortable.”
“Just go and take a walk outside,” I grumbled. “The fresh air should make a difference, and you’ll come back and fall asleep.”
“Fine,” he said, getting out of bed and leaving the room.
I was just about to fall asleep again when Adam’s scream pierced the air. I bolted upright in bed with my heart racing.
What on earth was going on? Was there someone in the house? Were we in danger?
While my brain was moving a mile a minute, trying to decide what to do next, Adam stormed back into the room.
“What happened?” I blurted out, uneasy.
My fiancé’s face contorted in a mix of horror and anger, and he paused for a minute before he started yelling.
“I cannot believe it,” he yelled. “Your mom! Sasha! Your mother! She’s kissing another man in the foyer!”
My heart sank. I had hoped that we would have gotten through this entire visit without this.
If anything, I had always dreaded this moment, the time when my parents’ unusual and unconventional marriage would come to light.
I tried to explain, to calm him down, but he wouldn’t have it.
“Call your dad, Sasha,” Adam demanded. “Tell him that your mom is cheating right here in your own home.”
It seemed logical, simple even. And I understood why Adam would think that having my father involved would solve everything.
But he couldn’t be further from the truth.
Before I could react and begin navigating the explanation, my mom walked in, still straightening her clothes.
“I can explain,” she started, but my fiancé cut her off.
“Explain? What’s there to explain? You’re cheating on your husband in his own home!”
“It’s not cheating, darling,” she said softly. “Sasha knows, and she’ll explain it all to you. Shaun and my marriage is different. Very different. It’s unconventional compared to your usual marriage. You need to understand that, Adam, before you judge us.”
Adam turned to me, eyes wide.
“You knew? You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”
I tried to reach out to him, but he recoiled.
“I didn’t know how to tell you, and I’m not proud of keeping this secret. But it wasn’t mine to tell.”
“Sasha!” he said, his hands in the air. “You should have told me! This isn’t something that you just keep hidden from the person that you’re going to marry. I don’t know if I can trust you now. This was a setup, wasn’t it? You wanted to introduce me to this lifestyle, isn’t it?”
By this point, I was overwhelmed, and I couldn’t understand what Adam was getting at.
I was taken back to a memory from my youth. I was 16, and my friends were planning a sleepover at my home.
“You have the biggest room, Sasha,” my friend Brielle said. “Let’s have it at your place.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me,” I said. “I don’t think my parents will mind at all! And we can watch movies in the living room because my parents have a TV in their room now, so they won’t disturb us.”
“I’ll bring my cotton candy machine,” Brielle said excitedly. “We can have that and popcorn!”
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I remember going home after school and telling my mother all about our plans. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
“Sure, honey,” she said. “You girls can take care of yourselves. Dad and I have a dinner that evening.”
Little did I know that later that evening, I would discover the truth about my parents’ marriage.
My friends and I were all sitting on the couch when my parents walked in with another couple. My mother was holding tightly onto a man’s hand as she kicked off her shoes. My father was kissing the other woman.
When they saw me, they were shocked. And they had no choice but to explain the situation to me.
“We are married to each other, and we love each other. We’re committed, honey. But we’re also allowed to see other people if we want to,” my mother explained gently. “There’s nothing wrong with the way we are. And you need to understand that.”
Now, listening to Adam, I was taken back to the same flood of emotions.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I said. “I am dedicated to you. I don’t want that lifestyle.”
But Adam wasn’t having it. He just wasn’t listening. Instead, he began to speak about his mother’s infidelity which had led to his parents’ divorce. It all made him see betrayal everywhere.
“Everything is a red flag for me, Sasha.”
He packed a bag and left for a hotel, saying that he needed a moment to reevaluate our engagement.
I spent the rest of the night crying, feeling the weight of my parents’ choices crashing down on my own relationship.
“You need to talk to him,” my mother said, giving me a cup of coffee. “Just go to him.”
I joined him at the hotel. We barely spoke, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid. I didn’t know if Adam still wanted to be together or not. I suggested that we move to my grandmother’s house for the rest of our stay so that we could talk about everything while still being comfortable.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s okay with me because this hotel is too cold anyway.”
There was a coldness between us that hadn’t been there before.
“I’ve never kept secrets from you,” I told him. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. It’s not something that I like talking about because I struggled to understand it myself.”
Adam sighed, rubbing his temples.
“I get it. But this feels too close to home, Sasha,” he said. “I just need some time.”
We spent the rest of the week at my grandmother’s house, trying to finish the family visit in the best spirits we could muster. My parents apologized to Adam, but it didn’t matter anymore.
It wasn’t about them. It was about the fact that their actions had triggered my fiancé. On the drive home, Adam and I decided that we wanted to stay together and see where life took us.
“But I think we need to go to therapy,” I said, handing Adam a drink.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he said, biting his lip. “Because I need to uncover my own trauma before accepting your parents.”
Now, Adam and I have started talking about everything. From his fears, my shame, our future. We could only heal from this.
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.
My Entitled Parents Demanded That I Give Them My New House — My In-Laws Suddenly Stood up for Me
When Carina’s parents kick her out after high school, she has no choice but to navigate her way around life. Years later, after making a success of her life, and her wedding is around the corner, she reaches out to them, only for them to storm into her life, trying to take ownership of what she has worked so hard for.
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